III. 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   HERITAGE    OF   UNREST 


THE 


HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 


BY 
GWENDOLEN    OVERTON 


£f  orfe 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1901 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 
BT  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Nortooofc 
J.  8.  dishing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  ft  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 


9«?-f  f^iRf* 
tJf-^-*-^^- ''  ^ 


THE   HEKITAGE    OF   UNREST 

IT  is  one  thing  to  be  sacrificed  to  a  cause,  even  if  it 
is  only  by  filling  up  the  ditch  that  others  may  cross 
to  victory;  it  is  quite  another  to  be  sacrificed  in  a 
cause,  to  die  unavailingly  without  profit  or  glory  of 
any  kind,  to  be  even  an  obstacle  thrown  across  the 
way.  And  that  was  the  end  which  looked  Cabot  in  the 
face.  He  stood  and  considered  his  horse  where  it  lay 
in  the  white  dust,  with  its  bloodshot  eyes  turned  up  to 
a  sky  that  burned  like  a  great  blue  flame.  Its  tongue, 
all  black  and  swollen,  hung  out  upon  the  sand,  its 
flanks  were  sunken,  and  its  forelegs  limp. 

Cabot  was  not  an  unmerciful  man,  but  if  he  had  had 
his  sabre  just  then,  he  would  have  dug  and  turned  it  in 
the  useless  carcass.  He  was  beside  himself  with  fear ; 
fear  of  the  death  which  had  come  to  the  cow  and  the 
calf  whose  chalk-white  skeletons  were  at  his  feet,  of 
the  flat  desert  and  the  low  bare  hills,  miles  upon  miles 
away,  rising  a  little  above  the  level,  tawny  and  dry, 
giving  no  hope  of  shelter  or  streams  or  shade.  He  had 
foreseen  it  all  when  the  horse  had  stumbled  in  a  snake 
hole,  had  limped  and  struggled  a  few  yards  farther, 
and  then,  as  he  slipped  to  the  ground,  had  stood  quite 
still,  swaying  from  side  to  side,  with  its  legs  wide  apart, 
until  it  fell.  He  gritted  his  teeth  so  that  the  veins 

B  1 


2  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

stood  out  on  his  temples,  and,  going  closer,  jerked  at 
the  bridle  and  kicked  at  its  belly  with  the  toe  of  his 
heavy  boot,  until  the  glassy  eye  lighted  with  keener 
pain. 

The  column  halted,  and  the  lieutenant  in  command 
rode  back.  He,  too,  looked  down  at  the  horse,  pulling 
at  his  mustache  with  one  gauntleted  hand.  He  had 
played  with  Cabot  when  they  had  been  children  to- 
gether, in  that  green  land  of  peace  and  plenty  which 
they  called  the  East.  They  had  been  schoolmates,  and 
they  had  the  same  class  sympathies  even  now,  though 
the  barrier  of  rank  was  between  them,  and  the  dis- 
mounted man  was  a  private  in  Landor's  own  troop. 
Landor  liked  the  private  for  the  sake  of  the  old  times 
and  for  the  memory  of  a  youth  which  had  held  a  better 
promise  for  both  than  manhood  had  fulfilled. 

"  Done  up,  —  is  it?  "  he  said  thoughtfully.  His  voice 
was  hard  because  he  realized  the  full  ugliness  of  it. 
He  had  seen  the  thing  happen  once  before. 

Cabot  did  not  answer.  The  gasping  horse  on  the 
sand,  moving  its  neck  in  a  weak  attempt  to  get  up, 
was  answer  enough.  He  stood  with  his  hands  hanging 
helplessly,  looking  at  it  in  wrath  and  desperation. 

Landor  took  stock  of  the  others.  There  had  been 
five  led  horses  twenty-four  hours  before,  when  they 
had  started  on  a  hot  trail  after  the  chief  Cochise. 
But  they  had  taken  the  places  of  five  others  that  had 
dropped  in  their  tracks  to  feed  the  vultures  that  fol- 
lowed always,  flying  above  in  the  quivering  blue. 
They  were  a  sorry  lot,  the  two  score  that  remained. 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  3 

In  the  spring  of  '61,  when  the  handful  of  frontier 
troops  was  pressed  with  enemies  red  and  brown  and 
white,  the  cavalry  was  not  well  mounted. 

Landor  saw  that  his  own  horse  was  the  best ;  and  it 
bid  very  fair  to  play  out  soon  enough.  But  until  it 
should  do  so,  his  course  was  plain.  He  gathered  his 
reins  in  his  hands.  "  You  can  mount  behind  me, 
Cabot,"  he  said.  The  man  shook  his  head.  It  was 
bad  enough  that  he  had  come  down  himself  without 
bringing  others  down  too.  He  tried  to  say  so,  but 
time  was  too  good  a  thing  to  be  wasted  in  argument, 
where  an  order  would  serve.  There  was  a  water  hole 
to  be  reached  somewhere  to  the  southwest,  over  beyond 
the  soft,  dun  hills,  and  it  had  to  be  reached  soon. 
Minutes  spelled  death  under  that  .white  hot  sun. 
Landor  changed  from  the  friend  to  the  officer,  and 
Cabot  threw  himself  across  the  narrow  haunches  that 
gave  weakly  under  his  weight. 

It  went  well  enough  for  a  time,  and  the  hills  seemed 
coming  a  little  nearer,  to  be  rougher  on  the  surface. 
Then  the  double-loaded  horse  fagged.  Cabot  felt  that 
it  did,  and  grasped  hard  on  the  burning  cantle  as  he 
made  his  resolve.  When  Landor  used  his  spurs  for 
the  first  time,  he  loosed  his  hold  and  dropped  to  the 
ground. 

Landor  drew  rein  and  turned  upon  him  with  oaths 
and  a  purpled  face.  "  What  the  devil  are  you  trying 
to  do  now  ?  "  he  said. 

Cabot  told  him  that  he  was  preparing  to  remain 
where  he  was.  His  voice  was  firm  and  his  lips  were 


4  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

set  under  the  sun-bleached  yellow  of  his  beard,  but  his 
face  was  gray,  for  all  the  tan.  He  lapsed  into  the 
speech  of  other  days.  "No  use,  Jack,"  he  said;  "it's 
worse  than  court-martial  —  what  I've  got  to  face  here. 
Just  leave  me  some  water  and  rations,  and  you  go 

on." 

Landor  tried  another  way  then,  and  leaned  from  his 
saddle  in  his  earnestness.  He  put  it  in  the  light  of  a 
favor  to  himself.  But  Cabot's  refusal  was  unanswer- 
able. It  was  better  one  than  two,  he  said,  and  no 
horse  in  the  command  could  carry  double. 

"  I  will  try  to  reach  the  water  hole.  Leave  a  man 
there  for  me  with  a  horse.  If  I  don't  —  "  he  forced  a 
laugh  as  he  looked  up  at  the  buzzard  which  was  drop- 
ping closer  down  above  him. 

"  You  could  take  turns  riding  behind  the  men." 

"No,"  Cabot  told  him,  "I  couldn't  —  not  without 
delaying  you.  The  trail's  too  hot  for  that.  If  you'll 
put  a  fourth  and  last  bullet  into  Cochise,  the  loss  of  a 
little  thing  like  me  won't  matter  much."  He  stopped 
short,  and  his  chin  dropped,  weakly,  undecided. 

"  Jack,"  he  said,  going  up  and  running  his  hand  in 
and  out  underneath  the  girths.  He  spoke  almost  too 
low  to  be  heard,  and  the  men  who  were  nearest  rode  a 
few  feet  away.  "  Jack,  will  you  do  something  for  me  ? 
Will  you  —  that  is  —  there  is  a  fellow  named  McDonald 
up  at  the  Mescalero  Agency.  He's  got  a  little  four- 
year-old  girl  he's  taking  care  of."  He  hurried  along, 
looking  away  from  Landor's  puzzled  face.  "  She's  the 
daughter  of  a  half-breed  Mescalero  woman,  who  was 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  5 

killed  by  the  Mexicans.  If  I  don't  come  out  of  all  this, 
will  you  get  her  ?  Tell  McDonald  I  told  you  to.  I'm 
her  father." 

He  raised  his  eyes  now,  and  they  were  appealing. 
"It's  an  awful  lot  to  ask  of  you,  Jack,  even  for  old 
sake's  sake.  I  know  that.  But  the  little  thing  is 
almost  white,  and  I  cared  for  her  mother  —  in  a  way. 
I  can't  let  her  go  back  to  the  tribe."  His  lips  quivered 
and  he  bit  at  them  nervously.  "  I  kept  meaning  to  get 
her  away  somehow."  There  was  a  sort  of  pity  on 
Lander's  face,  pity  and  half  contempt.  He  had  heard 
that  from  Cabot  so  often  for  so  many  years,  "  I  kept 
meaning  to  do  this  thing  or  the  other,  somehow,  some 
day."  "  But  it  looks  as  though  you  might  have  to  do 
it  now.  Will  you,  lieutenant?"  He  tugged  at  the 
cinchings  while  he  waited. 

Landor  was  without  impulses  ;  the  very  reverse  from 
boyhood  of  the  man  on  the  ground  beside  him,  which 
was  why,  perhaps,  it  had  come  to  be  as  it  was  now. 
He  considered  before  he  replied.  But  having  consid- 
ered, he  answered  that  he  would,  and  that  he  would 
do  his  best  for  the  child  always.  Once  he  had  said  it, 
he  might  be  trusted  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Cabot,  and  drew  his  hand  from 
the  girths.  He  cut  Landor  short  when  he  tried  to 
change  him  again.  "  You  are  losing  time,"  he  told 
him,  "  and  if  you  stay  here  from  now  to  next  week  it 
won't  do  any  good.  I'll  foot  it  to  the  water  hole,  if  I 
can.  Otherwise  —  "  the  feeble  laugh  once  more  as  his 
eyes  shifted  to  where  a  big,  gray  prairie  wolf  was  going 


6  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

across  the  flat,  stopping  now  and  then  to  watch  them, 
then  swinging  on  again. 

They  came  around  him  and  offered  him  their  horses, 
dismounting  even,  and  forcing  the  reins  into  his  hands. 
"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  doing,"  a  corporal  urged. 
"  You'll  never  get  out  alive.  If  it  ain't  Indians,  it'll 
be  thirst."  Then  he  looked  into  Cabot's  face  and  saw 
that  he  did  know,  that  he  knew  very  well.  And  so 
they  left  him  at  last,  with  more  of  the  tepid  alkali  water 
than  they  well  could  spare  from  their  canteens,  with  two 
days'  rations  and  an  extra  cartridge  belt,  and  trotted  on 
once  more  across  the  plain. 

He  stood  quite  still  and  erect,  looking  after  them,  a 
dead  light  of  renunciation  of  life  and  hope  in  his  eyes. 
They  came  in  search  of  him  two  days  later  and  scoured 
the  valley  and  the  hills.  But  the  last  they  ever  saw  of 
him  was  then,  following  them,  a  tiny  speck  upon  the 
desert,  making  southwest  in  the  direction  of  the  water 
hole.  The  big  wolf  had  stopped  again,  and  turned  about, 
coming  slowly  after  him,  and  two  buzzards  circled  above 
him,  casting  down  on  his  path  the  flitting  shadows  of 
their  wings. 


THERE  was  trouble  at  the  San  Carlos  Agency,  which 
was  in  no  wise  unusual  in  itself,  but  was  upon  this 
occasion  more  than  ever  discouraging.  There  had  been 
a  prospect  of  lasting  peace,  the  noble  Red-man  was 
settling  down  in  his  filthy  rancheria  to  become  a  good 
citizen,  because  he  was  tagged  with  little  metal  num- 
bers, and  was  watched  unceasingly,  and  forbidden 
the  manufacture  of  tizwin,  or  the  raising  of  the  dead 
with  dances,  and  was  told  that  an  appreciative  govern- 
ment was  prepared  to  help  him  if  he  would  only  help 
himself. 

Then  some  bull-teams  going  to  Camp  Apache  had 
stopped  over  night  at  the  Agency.  The  teamsters  had 
sold  the  bucks  whiskey,  and  the  bucks  had  grown  very 
drunk.  The  representatives  of  the  two  tribes  which 
were  hereditary  enemies,  and  which  the  special  agent 
of  an  all-wise  Interior  Department  had,  nevertheless, 
shut  up  within  the  confines  of  the  same  reservation, 
therewith  fell  upon  and  slew  each  other,  and  the  sur- 
vivors went  upon  the  warpath  —  metal  tags  and  all. 
So  the  troops  had  been  called  out,  and  Landor's  was  at 
San  Carlos. 

Landor  himself  sat  in  his  tent,  upon  his  mess-chest, 

and  by  the  light  of  a  candle  wrote  a  despatch  which 

7 


8  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

was  to  go  by  courier  the  next  morning.  Gila  valley 
mosquitoes  were  singing  around  his  head,  a  knot  of 
chattering  squaws  and  naked  children  were  peering  into 
his  tent,  the  air  was  oven-hot,  coyotes  were  filling  the 
night  with  their  weird  bark,  and  a  papoose  was  bawling 
somewhere  close  by.  Yet  he  would  have  been  sufficiently 
content  could  he  have  been  let  alone  —  the  one  plea  of 
the  body  military  from  all  time.  It  was  not  to  be. 
The  declared  and  standing  foes  of  that  body  pushed 
their  way  through  the  squaws  and  children.  He  knew 
them  already.  They  were  Stone  of  the  Tucson  press, 
sent  down  to  investigate  and  report,  and  Barnwell,  an 
Agency  high  official,  who  would  gladly  assist  the  mis- 
representations, so  far  as  in  his  power  lay. 

Landor  knew  that  they  were  come  to  hear  what  he 
might  have  to  say  about  it,  and  he  had  decided  to  say, 
for  once,  just  what  he  thought,  which  is  almost  inva- 
riably unwise,  and  in  this  particular  case  proved  ex- 
ceedingly so,  as  any  one  could  have  foretold.  On  the 
principle  that  a  properly  conducted  fist  fight  is  opened 
by  civilities,  however,  he  mixed  three  toddies  in  as 
many  tin  coffee  cups. 

They  said  "how,"  and  drank.  After  which  Stone 
asked  what  the  military  were  going  to  do  about  certain 
things  which  he  specified,  and  implied  the  inability  of 
the  military  to  do  anything  for  any  one.  Landor 
smiled  indolently  and  said  "Quien  sabe?"  Stone 
wished  to  be  told  if  any  one  ever  did  know  and  sug- 
gested, acridly,  that  if  the  by-word  of  the  Mexican 
were  poco-tiempo,  that  of  the  troops  was  certainly 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  9 

quien-sabe  ?  Between  the  two  the  citizen  got  small 
satisfaction. 

"I  don't  know,"  objected  Landor;  "you  get  the 
satisfaction  of  beginning  the  row  pretty  generally  — 
as  you  did  this  time  —  and  of  saying  what  you  think 
about  us  in  unmistakable  language  after  we  have  tried 
to  put  things  straight  for  you." 

Stone  considered  his  dignity  as  a  representative  of  the 
press,  and  decided  that  he  would  not  be  treated  with 
levity.  He  would  resent  the  attitude  of  the  soldiery ; 
but  in  his  resentment  he  passed  the  bounds  of  courtesy 
altogether,  forgetting  whose  toddy  he  had  just  drunk, 
and  beneath  whose  tent  pole  he  was  seated.  He  said 
rude  things  about  the  military,  —  that  it  was  pampered 
and  inefficient  and  gold  laced,  and  that  it  thought  its 
mission  upon  earth  fulfilled  when  it  sat  back  and  drew 
princely  pay. 

Landor  recalled  the  twenty  years  of  all  winter  cam- 
paigns, dry  camps,  forced  marches,  short  rations,  and 
long  vigils  and  other  annoyances  that  are  not  put  down 
in  the  tactics,  and  smiled  again,  with  a  deep  cynicism. 
Barnwell  sat  silent.  He  sympathized  with  Stone  be- 
cause his  interests  lay  that  way,  but  he  was  somewhat 
unfortunately  placed  between  the  military  devil  and 
the  political  deep  sea. 

Stone  was  something  of  a  power  in  Tucson  politics, 
and  altogether  a  great  man  upon  the  territorial  stump. 
He  was  proud  of  his  oratory,  and  launched  into  a  dis- 
play of  it  now,  painting  luridly  the  wrongs  of  the 
citizen,  who,  it  appeared,  was  a  defenceless,  honest,  law- 


10  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

abiding  child  of  peace,  yet  passed  his  days  in  seeing  his 
children  slaughtered,  his  wife  tortured,  his  ranches 
laid  waste,  and  himself  shot  down  and  scalped. 

Landor  tried  to  interpose  a  suggestion  that  though 
the  whole  effect  was  undoubtedly  good  and  calculated 
to  melt  a  heart  of  iron,  the  rhetoric  was  muddled  ;  but 
the  reporter  swept  on  ;  BO  he  clasped  his  hands  behind 
his  head  and  leaning  back  against  a  tent  pole,  yawned 
openly.  Stone  came  to  an  end  at  length,  and  had  to 
mop  his  head  with  a  very  much  bordered  handkerchief. 
The  temperature  was  a  little  high  for  so  much  effort. 
He  met  Lander's  glance  challengingly. 

"  Well  done  !  "  the  officer  commended.  "  But  con- 
sidering how  it  has  heated  you,  you  ought  to  have 
saved  it  for  some  one  upon  whom  it  would  have  had 
its  effect  —  some  one  who  wasn't  round  at  the  time  of 
the  Aravaypa  Canon  business,  for  instance." 

The  Agency  man  thought  a  question  would  not  com- 
mit him.  He  had  not  been  round  at  that  time,  and  he 
asked  for  information.  The  lieutenant  gave  it  to  him. 

"  It  was  a  little  spree  they  had  here  in  '71.  Some 
Tucson  citizens  and  Papago  Indians  and  Greasers  under- 
took to  avenge  their  wrongs  and  show  the  troops  how 
it  ought  to  be  done.  So  they  went  to  Aravaypa  Canon, 
where  a  lot  of  peaceable  Indians  were  cutting  hay,  and 
surprised  them  one  day  at  sunrise,  and  killed  a  hundred 
and  twenty-five  of  them  —  mostly  women  and  children. 

The  reporter  interposed  that  it  was  the  act  of  men 
maddened  by  grief  and  their  losses. 

"I  dare  say,"  Landor  agreed;  "it  is  certainly  more 


THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  11 

charitable  to  suppose  that  men  who  hacked  up  the 
bodies  of  babies,  and  abused  women,  and  made  away 
with  every  sort  of  loot,  from  a  blanket  to  a  string  of 
beads,  were  mad.  It  was  creditably  thorough  for  mad- 
men, though.  And  it  was  the  starting-point  of  all  the 
trouble  that  it  took  Crook  two  years  to  straighten  out." 

Stone  held  that  the  affair  had  been  grossly  exagger- 
ated, and  that  the  proof  thereof  lay  in  the  acquittal  of 
all  accused  of  the  crime,  by  a  jury  of  their  peers;  and 
Landor  said  that  the  sooner  that  highly  discreditable 
travesty  on  justice  was  forgotten,  the  better  for  the 
good  fame  of  the  territory.  The  press  representative 
waxed  eloquent  once  more,  until  his  neck  grew  violet 
with  suppressed  wrath,  which  sputtered  out  now  and 
then  in  profanity.  The  officer  met  his  finest  flights  with 
cold  ridicule,  and  the  Agency  man  improved  the  oppor- 
tunity by  pouring  himself  a  drink  from  the  flask  on  the 
cot.  In  little  it  was  the  reproduction  of  the  whole 
situation  on  the  frontier  —  and  the  politician  profited. 

In  those  days  some  strange  things  happened  at 
agencies.  Toilet  sets  were  furnished  to  the  Apache, 
who  has  about  as  much  use  for  toilet  sets  as  the  Green- 
lander  has  for  cotton  prints,  and  who  would  probably 
have  used  them  for  targets  if  he  had  ever  gotten  them 
—  which  he  did  not.  Upon  the  table  of  a  certain  agent 
(and  he  was  an  honest  man,  let  it  be  noted,  for  the 
thing  was  rare)  there  lay  for  some  time  a  large  rock, 
which  he  had  labelled  with  delicate  humor  "sample 
of  sugar  furnished  to  this  agency  under  — "  but 
the  name  doesn't  matter  now.  It  was  close  on  a 


12  THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST 

quarter  of  a  century  ago,  and  no  doubt  it  is  all  changed 
since  then.  By  the  same  working  out,  a  schoolhouse 
built  of  sun-baked  mud,  to  serve  as  a  temple  of  learning 
for  the  Red-man,  cost  the  government  forty  thousand 
dollars.  The  Apache  children  who  sat  within  it  could 
have  acquired  another  of  the  valuable  lessons  of  Ojo- 
blanco  from  the  contractors. 

Beef  was  furnished  the  Indians  on  the  hoof  and  cal- 
culated by  the  pound,  and  the  weight  of  some  of  those 
long-horn  steers,  once  they  got  upon  the  Agency  scales, 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  mastodon.  By  this  method 
the  Indian  got  the  number  of  pounds  of  meat  he  was 
entitled  to  per  capita,  and  there  was  some  left  over  that 
the  agent  might  dispose  of  to  his  friends.  As  for  the 
heavy-weight  steers,  when  the  Apache  received  them, 
he  tortured  them  to  death  with  his  customary  ingenuity. 
It  made  the  meat  tender ;  and  he  was  an  epicure  in  his 
way.  The  situation  in  the  territory,  whichever  way 
you  looked  at  it,  was  not  hopeful. 

When  the  moon  rose,  Barnwell  and  Stone  went  away 
and  left  Landor  again  with  the  peeping  squaAvs  and  the 
wailing  papooses,  the  mosquitoes  and  the  legacy  of 
their  enduring  enmity,  —  an  enmity  not  to  be  lightly 
despised,  for  it  could  be  as  annoying  and  far  more 
serious  than  the  stings  of  the  river-bottom  mosquitoes. 
As  they  walked  across  the  gleaming  dust,  their  bodies 
throwing  long  black  shadows,  two  naked  Indian  boys 
followed  them,  creeping  forward  unperceived,  dropping 
on  the  ground  now  and  then,  and  wriggling  along  like 
snakes.  They  were  practising  for  the  future. 


II 

IN  the  '70's  the  frontier  was  a  fact  and  not  a 
memory,  and  a  woman  in  the  Far  West  was  a  blessing 
sent  direct  from  heaven,  or  from  the  East,  which  was 
much  the  same  thing.  Lieutenants  besought  the  wives 
of  their  brother  officers  to  bring  out  their  sisters  and 
cousins  and  even  aunts,  and  very  weird  specimens  of 
the  sex  sometimes  resulted.  But  even  these  could 
reign  as  queens,  dance,  ride,  flirt  to  their  hearts'  content 
— also  marry,  which  is  not  always  the  corollary  in  these 
days.  The  outbreak  of  a  reservation  full  of  Indians 
was  a  small  thing  in  comparison  with  the  excitement 
occasioned  by  the  expectation  of  a  girl  in  the  post. 

There  was  now  at  Grant  the  prospect  of  a  girl,  and 
for  days  ahead  the  bachelors  had  planned  about  her. 
She  was  Lander's  ward,  —  it  was  news  to  them  that  he 
had  a  ward,  for  he  was  not  given  to  confidences,  —  and 
she  was  going  to  visit  the  wife  of  his  captain,  Mrs. 
Campbell.  When  they  asked  questions,  Landor  said 
she  was  eighteen  years  old,  and  that  her  name  was 
Cabot,  and  that  as  he  had  not  seen  her  for  ten  years 
he  did  not  know  whether  she  were  pretty  or  not.  But 
the  vagueness  surrounding  her  was  rather  attractive 
than  otherwise,  on  the  whole.  It  was  not  even  known 
when  she  would  arrive.  There  was  no  railroad  to 

13 


14  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNKEST 

Arizona.  From  Kansas  she  would  have  to  travel  by 
ambulance  with  the  troops  which  were  changing 
station. 

There  was  only  Mrs.  Campbell  who  knew  the  whole 
story.  Landor  had  gone  to  her  for  advice,  as  had  been 
his  custom  since  the  days  before  she  had  preferred 
Campbell  to  him.  "Felipa,"  he  said,  "writes  that  she 
is  going  to  run  away  from  school,  if  I  don't  take  her 
away.  She  says  she  will,  and  she  undoubtedly  means 
it.  I  have  always  noticed  that  there  is  no  indecision 
in  her  character." 

Mrs.  Campbell  asked  where  she  proposed  running  to. 

Landor  did  not  know ;  but  she  was  part  Apache, 
he  said,  and  Harry  Cabot's  daughter,  and  it  was  pretty 
certain  that  with  that  blood  in  her  veins  she  had  the 
spirit  of  adventure. 

She  asked  what  he  had  thought  of  doing  about  it. 

"  I've  thought  of  bringing  her  on  here.  But  how 
can  I  ?  In  a  bachelor  establishment  ?  My  sister  won't 
have  her  at  any  terms.  She  suggested  an  orphan  asylum 
from  the  first,  and  she  hasn't  changed  her  mind." 

Mrs.  Campbell  appliqued  a  black  velvet  imp  on  a 
green  felt  lambrequin,  and  thought.  "Do  you  ever 
happen  to  realize  that  you  have  your  hands  very  full  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said  shortly,  "  I  realize  it." 

He  sat  staring  over  her  head  for  a  moment  of  silence. 
"  I  foresaw  it  when  I  told  Cabot  I'd  take  her." 

"  Might  not  an  orphan  asylum  have  been  best,  after 
all?" 

**  It  might  for  me,"  he  said,  "  but  not  for  her,  and  I 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  15 

told  Cabot  I'd  do  my  best  for  her."  It  had  seemed 
to  him  his  plain  duty,  and  he  had  done  it,  and  he  asked 
no  approbation. 

Mrs.  Campbell  took  it  as  he  did,  for  a  matter  of 
course.  She  wasted  no  words  in  expressing  admira- 
tion for  what  he  had  done,  but  kept  to  the  main  issue, 
making  herself  useful,  as  women  are  rarely  content  to 
do  when  they  deal  with  men,  without  indulging  her 
taste  for  the  sentimental.  "  Suppose  I  were  to  take 
her  ?  "  she  suggested. 

He  opposed  drawbacks.  "You  can't  keep  her 
always." 

She  smiled.  "The  chances  that  she  will  marry 
are  excellent." 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  sat  watching  the 
trumpeter  come  out  of  the  adjutant's  office  to  sound 
recall.  "Yes,  she  will  marry,"  he  agreed;  "if  no  one 
else  marries  her,  I  will.  I  am  as  old  as  her  father  would 
have  been  but  it  would  save  telling  some  fellow  about 
her  birth." 

"  Did  the  girl  know  her  own  story  ?  "  she  asked. 

She  did  not.  He  had  merely  told  her  that  her  father 
was  his  friend  and  had  died  on  the  plains.  "  She 
thinks  her  mother  died  at  Stanton.  It  is  so  near  the 
Mescalero  Agency  that  I  let  it  go  at  that." 

They  argued  it  from  all  sides  during  the  whole  of 
a  day,  and  Campbell  lent  his  advice,  and  the  end  of  it 
was  that  Felipa  Cabot  came  out  to  the  land  of  her 
forbears. 

Pending  her  arrival,  Landor  brought  himself  to  look 


16  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

upon  it  as  his  plain  duty  and  only  course  to  marry 
her.  It  would  save  her,  and  any  man  who  might 
otherwise  happen  to  love  her,  from  learning  what 
she  was.  That  she  might  refuse  to  look  at  it  in  that 
way,  did  not  much  enter  into  his  calculations.  It 
required  a  strong  effort  for  him  to  decide  it  so,  but 
it  was  his  way  to  pick  out  the  roughest  possible  path 
before  him,  to  settle  within  himself  that  it  was  that 
of  duty,  and  to  follow  it  without  fagging  or  complaint. 
He  dreaded  any  taint  of  Apache  blood  as  he  dreaded 
the  venom  of  a  rattler.  He  had  seen  its  manifestations 
for  twenty  odd  years,  had  seen  the  hostile  savage  and 
the  civilized  one,  and  shrank  most  from  the  latter. 
But  he  had  promised  Cabot  to  do  his  best  by  the 
waif,  and  the  best  he  could  see  was  to  marry  her. 
There  was  always  before  him,  to  urge  him  on  to  the 
sacrifice,  the  stalwart  figure  of  his  boyhood's  friend, 
standing  forsaken  in  the  stretch  of  desert  with  the 
buzzards  hovering  over  him  in  the  burning  sky.  He 
permitted  himself  to  hope,  however,  that  she  was  not 
too  obviously  a  squaw. 

When  the  day  came  he  rode  out  with  most  of 
the  garrison  to  meet  her.  He  was  anxious.  He 
recalled  Anne  of  Cleves,  and  had  a  fellow-feeling  for 
the  King.  By  the  time  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
marching  troops,  he  had  worked  himself  to  such  an 
implicit  faith  in  the  worst  that  he  decided  that  the 
wide  figure,  heavily  blue-veiled,  and  linen-dustered,  on 
the  back  seat  of  the  Dougherty  was  she.  It  is  one 
of  the  strongest  arguments  of  the  pessimist  in  favor 


THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  17 

of  his  philosophy,  that  the  advantage  of  expecting 
the  disagreeable  lies  in  the  fact  that,  -if  he  meets  with 
disappointment,  it  is  necessarily  a  pleasant  one. 

Felipa  Cabot  proved  to  be  a  lithe  creature,  who  rode 
beside  the  ambulance  with  the  officers,  and  who,  in 
spite  of  the  dust  and  tan  and  traces  of  a  hard  march, 
was  beautiful.  In  the  reaction  of  the  moment  Landor 
thought  her  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 
But  she  froze  the  consequent  warmth  of  his  greeting 
with  a  certain  indefinable  stolidity,  and  she  eyed  him 
with  an  unabashed  intention  of  determining  whether 
he  were  satisfactory  or  not,  which  changed  his  position 
to  that  of  the  one  upon  approbation.  If  she  had  been 
less  handsome,  it  would  have  been  repellent. 

Before  they  had  reached  the  post,  he  had  learned  a 
good  deal  about  her.  The  elderly  major  who  had  come 
with  her  from  Kansas  told  him  that  a  lieutenant  by  the 
name  of  Brewster  was  insanely  in  love  with  her,  that 
the  same  Brewster  was  a  good  deal  of  an  ass,  —  the  two 
facts  having  no  connection,  however,  —  that  she  was  an 
excellent  travelling  companion,  always  satisfied  and 
always  well.  What  the  major  did  not  tell  him,  but 
what  he  gathered  almost  at  once,  was  that  the  girl  had 
not  endeared  herself  to  any  one  ;  she  was  neither  loved 
nor  disliked  —  the  lieutenant's  infatuation  was  not  to 
be  taken  as  an  indication  of  her  character,  of  course. 
But  then  she  was  beautiful,  with  her  long,  intent  eyes, 
and  strong  brows  and  features  cut  on  classic  lines  of 
perfection.  So  Landor  left  the  major  and  cantered 
ahead  to  join  her,  where  she  rode  with  Brewster. 


18  THE   HERITAGE  OP   UNEEST 

"  Has  the  trip  been  hard  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  answered  that  she  had  enjoyed  it  all,  every  day 
of  it,  and  Brewster  joined  in  with  ecstatic  praises  of 
her  horsemanship  and  endurance,  finishing  with  the 
unlucky  comment  that  she  rode  like  an  Indian. 

"  Apaches  ride  badly,  don't  they  ? "  she  said,  with 
calm  matter  of  fact.  "  If  you  mean  that  I  am  hard 
on  my  horse,  though,  you  are  right."  Her  voice  was 
exquisitely  sweet,  without  modulation. 

In  the  weeks  that  followed,  Landor  spent  days  and 
some  nights  —  those  when  he  sat  up  to  visit  the  guard, 
as  a  rule  —  attempting  to  decide  why  his  ward  repelled 
him.  She  seemed  to  be  quite  like  any  other  contented 
and  natural  young  girl.  She  danced,  and  courted 
admiration,  within  the  bounds  of  propriety ;  she  was 
fond  of  dress,  and  rather  above  the  average  in  intelli- 
gence. Usually  she  was  excellent  company,  whimsical 
and  sweet-humored.  She  rode  well  enough,  and  learned 
—  to  his  intense  annoyance  —  to  shoot  with  a  bow  and 
arrow  quite  remarkably,  so  much  so  that  they  nick- 
named her  Diana.  He  had  remonstrated  at  first,  but 
there  was  no  reason  to  urge,  after  all.  Archery  was 
quite  a  feminine  sport. 

When  his  analysis  of  her  failed,  he  went  to  Mrs. 
Campbell  again.  "  Do  you  grow  fond  of  Felipa  ?  "  he 
asked  point  blank. 

She  tried  to  parry  and  evade,  but  he  would  not  have 
it,  and  obliged  her  to  admit  that  she  did  not.  "  Not 
that  I  dislike  her,"  she  explained.  "  I  like  to  have  her 
round.  I  dare  say  it  is  a  jvhim." 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNBEST  19 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  not  a  whim.  It  is  the 
same  with  every  one.  Of  course  Brewster  has  lost  his 
head,  but  that  argues  nothing.  The  endearing  quality 
seems  to  be  lacking  in  her." 

She  sat  considering  deeply.  She  was  rocking  the 
baby,  with  its  little  fair  head  lying  in  the  hollow  of 
her  shoulder,  and  Landor  found  himself  wondering 
whether  Felipa  could  ever  develop  motherliness.  "  It 
is  quite  intangible,"  Mrs.  Campbell  half  crooned,  for 
the  baby's  lids  were  drooping  heavily.  "  I  can't  find 
that  she  lacks  a  good  characteristic.  I  study  her  all 
the  time.  Perhaps  the  fault  is  in  ourselves,  as  much 
as  anything,  because  we  insist  upon  studying  her  as  a 
problem,  instead  of  simply  a  very  young  girl.  She  is 
absolutely  truthful,  —  unless  she  happens  to  have  a 
grudge  against  some  one,  and  then  she  lies  without 
any  scruple  at  all,  —  and  she  is  generous  and  unselfish, 
and  very  amiable  with  the  children,  too." 

Landor  asked,  with  a  gleam  of  hope,  if  they  were 
attached  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  told  him,  "  they  are,  and  it  is  that  makes 
me  think  that  the  fault  may  be  ours.  She  is  so  patient 
with  them." 

At  that  moment  Felipa  herself  came  up  the  steps  and 
joined  them  on  the  porch.  She  walked  with  the  gait  of  a 
young  athlete.  Her  skirts  were  short  enough  to  leave 
her  movements  unhampered,  and  she  wore  on  her  feet 
a  pair  of  embroidered  moccasins.  She  seemed  to  be 
drawing  the  very  breath  of  life  into  her  quivering 
nostrils,  and  she  smiled  on  them  both  good-humoredly. 


20  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

"  Look,"  she  said,  going  up  to  Landor  with  a  noise- 
less tread  that  made  him  shiver  almost  visibly.  Mrs. 
Campbell  watched  them.  She  was  sorry  for  him. 

Felipa  held  out  her  hand  and  showed  a  little  brown 
bird  that  struggled  feebly.  She  explained  that  its  leg 
was  broken,  and  he  drew  back  instinctively.  There  was 
not  a  trace  of  softness  or  pity  in  her  sweet  voice.  Then 
he  took  the  bird  in  his  own  big  hand  and  asked  her 
how  it  had  happened.  "I  did  it  with  an  arrow," 
said  Diana,  unslinging  her  quiver,  which  was  a  bar- 
baric affair  of  mountain-lion  skin,  red  flannel,  and 
beads. 

"  I  can't  see  why  you  should  take  pleasure  in  shoot- 
ing these  harmless  things,"  he  said  impatiently;  "  the 
foot-hills  are  full  of  quail,  and  there  are  ducks  along  the 
creek.  For  that  matter  you  might  try  your  skill  on 
prairie  dogs,  it  seems  to  me." 

She  looked  down  at  the  curled  toe  of  her  moccasin 
with  a  certain  air  of  repentance,  and  answered  his  ques- 
tion as  to  what  she  meant  to  do  with  it  by  explaining 
that  she  meant  to  keep  it  for  a  pet. 

He  stroked  its  head  with  his  finger  as  it  lay  still, 
opening  and  shutting  its  bright  little  eyes.  "  It  won't 
live,"  he  told  her,  and  then  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
to  put  her  to  the  test.  He  held  the  bird  out  to  her. 
"Wring  its  neck,"  he  said,  "and  end  its  misery." 

She  showed  no  especial  repugnance  at  the  idea,  but 
refused  flatly,  nevertheless.  "  I  can't  do  that,"  she  said, 
dropping  down  into  the  hammock  and  swinging  herself 
with  the  tip  of  her  foot  on  the  floor. 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  21 

"  I  fail  to  see  why  not.     You  can  wound  it." 

"  But  that  is  sport,"  she  answered  carelessly. 

He  felt  that  he  ought  to  dislike  her  cordially,  but  he 
did  not.  He  admired  her,  on  the  contrary,  as  he  would 
have  admired  a  fine  boy.  She  seemed  to  have  no  re- 
ligion, no  ideals,  and  no  petty  vanity ;  therefore,  from 
his  point  of  judgment,  she  was  not  feminine.  Perhaps 
the  least  feminine  thing  about  her  was  the  manner  in 
which  she  appeared  to  take  it  for  granted  that  he  was 
going  to  marry  her,  without  his  having  said,  as  yet,  a 
word  to  that  effect.  In  a  certain  way  it  simplified  mat- 
ters, and  in  another  it  made  them  more  difficult.  It  is 
not  easy  to  ask  a  woman  to  marry  you  where  she  looks 
into  your  eyes  unhesitatingly.  But  Landor  decided 
that  it  had  to  be  done.  She  had  been  in  the  post  four 
months,  and  with  the  standing  exception  of  Brewster, 
whom  she  discouraged  resolutely,  none  of  the  officers 
cared  for  her  beyond  the  flirtation  limit. 

So  one  night  when  they  were  sitting  upon  the  Camp- 
bells' steps,  he  took  the  plunge.  She  had  been  talking 
earnestly,  discussing  the  advisability  of  filing  off  the 
hammer  of  the  pistol  he  had  given  her,  to  prevent  its 
catching  on  the  holster  when  she  wanted  to  draw  it 
quickly.  One  of  her  long,  brown  hands  was  laid  on 
his  knee,  with  the  most  admirable  lack  of  self-conscious- 
ness. He  put  his  own  hand  upon  it,  and  she  looked  up 
questioningly.  She  was  unused  to  caresses  from  any 
but  the  two  Campbell  children,  and  her  frank  surprise 
held  a  reproach  that  softened  his  voice  almost  to  ten- 
derness. 


22  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  love  me,  Felipa  ?  "  he  asked, 
without  any  preface  at  all. 

She  said  "  Yes "  as  frankly  as  she  would  have  said 
it  to  the  children.  It  was  blighting  to  any  budding 
romance,  but  he  tried  hard  nevertheless  to  save  the  next 
question  from  absolute  baldness.  He  had  a  resentful 
sort  of  feeling  that  he  was  entitled  to  at  least  a  little 
idealism.  As  she  would  not  give  it,  he  tried  to  find  it 
for  himself,  noting  the  grace  of  her  long  free  neck,  the 
wealth  of  her  coarse  black  hair,  and  the  beauty  of  her 
smiling  mouth.  But  the  smiling  mouth  answered  his 
low-spoken  "  Will  you  marry  me  then,  dear  ?  "  with  the 
same  frank  assent.  "  Not  for  a  good  while,  though," 
she  added.  "I  am  too  young."  That  was  all,  and  in 
a  moment  she  was  telling  him  some  of  Brewster's  ab- 
surdities, with  a  certain  appreciation  of  the  droll  that 
kept  it  from  being  malicious. 

As  he  had  made  Mrs.  Campbell  his  confidante  from 
the  first,  he  told  her  about  this  too,  now,  and  finished 
with  the  half-helpless,  half-amused  query  as  to  what  he 
should  do.  "  It  may  be  any  length  of  time  before  she 
decides  that  she  is  old  enough,  and  it  never  seems  to 
occur  to  her  that  this  state  of  things  can't  go  on  for- 
ever, that  she  is  imposing  upon  you."  "  And  the  most 
serious  part  of  it,"  he  added  after  a  while,  "is  that  she 
does  not  love  me." 

"  You  don't  love  her,  for  that  matter,  either,"  Mrs. 
Campbell  reminded  him.  But  she  advised  the  inevi- 
table, —  to  wait  and  let  it  work  itself  out. 

So  he  waited  and  stood  aside  somewhat,  to  watch 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  23 

the  course  of  Brewster's  suit.  He  derived  some  little 
amusement  from  it,  too,  but  he  wondered  with  rather 
a  deeper  tinge  of  anxiety  than  was  altogether  necessary 
what  the  final  outcome  would  be. 

One  morning  Brewster  met  Felipa  coming  from  the 
hospital  and  carrying  a  wide-mouthed  bottle.  He 
joined  her  and  asked  if  the  little  lady  were  going  to 
grow  flowers  in  it.  The  little  lady,  who  was  quite  as 
tall  as  and  a  good  deal  more  imposing  than  himself, 
answered  that  it  was  for  a  vinagrone.  He  remon- 
strated. She  was  surely  not  going  to  make  a  pet  of 
one  of  those  villanous  insects.  No.  She  had  caught 
a  tarantula,  too,  and  she  was  going  to  make  them  fight. 

"  Were  you  catching  the  tarantula  yesterday  when 
I  saw  you  lying  upon  the  ground  by  the  dump  heap  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  did  you  see  me  ?  I  dare  say  you 
thought  I  was  communing  with  Nature  in  the  midst 
of  the  old  tin  cans  and  horseshoes.  Well,  I  wasn't. 
I  was  watching  the  trap  of  a  tarantula  nest,  and  I 
caught  him  when  he  came  out.  I've  watched  that  hole 
for  three  days,"  she  announced  triumphantly.  "As 
for  the  vinagrone,  the  cook  found  him  in  his  tent,  and 
I  bottled  him.  Come  and  see  the  fight,"  she  invited 
amiably. 

Presently  she  returned  with  two  bottles.  In  one 
was  the  tarantula,  an  especially  large  and  hideous 
specimen,  hairy  and  black,  with  dull  red  tinges.  In 
the  other  the  vinagrone,  yet  more  hideous.  She  went 
down  to  the  side  of  the  house  and  emptied  both  into 
the  wide-mouthed  bottle. 


24  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

Brewster  was  in  agony.  He  reached  out  and  caught 
her  hand.  "  My  darling,"  he  cried,  "  take  care  !  " 

She  turned  on  him  quickly.  "  Let  me  be,"  she  com- 
manded, and  he  obeyed  humbly.  Then  she  corked 
the  bottle  and  shook  it  so  that  the  animals  rolled  on 
top  of  each  other,  and  laying  it  on  the  ground  bent 
over  it  with  the  deepest  interest.  Brewster  watched 
too,  fascinated  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  so  very 
ugly.  The  two  wicked  little  creatures  fought  desper- 
ately. But  after  a  time  they  withdrew  to  the  sides  of 
the  bottle,  and  were  quite  still.  The  tarantula  had  left 
a  leg  lying  loose. 

Felipa  turned  from  them  and  waited,  clasping  her 
hands  and  smiling  up  at  Brewster.  He,  misinterpret- 
ing, felt  encouraged  and  begged  her  to  leave  the  dis- 
gusting insects.  He  had  something  very  different  to 
talk  about.  She  said  that  she  did  not  want  to  hear  it, 
and  would  he  bet  on  the  tarantula  or  the  vinagrone  ? 

"  Don't  bring  them  into  it,"  he  implored.  "  If  you 
will  not  come  away,  I  will  tell  you  now,  Felipa,  that  I 
love  you."  He  was  more  in  earnest  than  Landor  had 
been.  She  felt  that  herself.  His  voice  broke,  and  he 
paled. 

But  she  only  considered  the  insects,  which  were 
beginning  to  move  again,  and  answered  absently  that 
she  knew  it,  that  he  had  said  it  before.  "  Oh  !  Mr. 
Brewster,  bet  quickly,"  she  urged. 

He  caught  her  by  the  arm,  exasperated  past  all 
civility,  and  shook  her.  "Do  you  hear  me,  Felipa 
Cabot  ?  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you.'' 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  25 

She  was  strong,  slender  as  she  was,  and  she  freed 
herself  almost  without  effort.  And  yet  he  would  not 
be  warned.  "  Don't  you  love  me  ?  "  he  insisted,  as 
though  she  had  not  already  made  it  plain  enough. 

"  No,"  she  said  shortly.     "You  had  better  bet." 

He  made  as  if  to  kick  the  bottle  away,  but  quick  as 
a  flash  she  was  on  her  feet  and  facing  him. 

"  You  touch  that,"  she  said  resolutely,  "  and  I'll  let 
them  both  loose  on  you." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  her. 

Landor  and  the  adjutant  came  by,  and  she  called  to 
them.  The  adjutant  backed  the  vinagrone  with  a  bag 
of  sutler's  candy,  and  Felipa  took  the  tarantula.  It 
was  mainly  legless  trunk,  but  still  furious.  Landor 
studied  her.  She  was  quiet,  but  her  eyes  had  grown 
narrow,  and  they  gleamed  curiously  at  the  sight  of  the 
torn  legs  and  feelers  scattering  around  the  bottle, 
wriggling  and  writhing.  She  was  at  her  very  worst. 

It  ended  in  victory  for  the  vinagrone,  but  he  died 
from  his  wounds  an  hour  later.  Felipa  told  Landor 
so,  as  they  started  for  a  ride,  early  in  the  afternoon. 
"  The  vinagrone  is  dead,"  she  said ;  "  Mr.  Brewster 
didn't  like  my  righting  them."  Then  she  assumed  the 
lofty  dignity  that  contrasted  so  oddly  sometimes  with 
her  childish  simplicity.  "  He  lacks  tact  awfully. 
Think  of  it  !  He  took  the  occasion  to  say  that  he 
loved  me.  As  though  he  had  not  told  me  so  a  dozen 
times  before." 

"  And  you  —  what  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Landor. 
He  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  how  anxiously  he 


26  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

waited,  and  the  extent  of  his  relief  when  she  answered, 
"  I  told  him  to  let  me  be,  or  I  would  set  them  loose  on 
him." 

Official  business  called  Brewster  to  the  Agency  next 
day.  He  stopped  overnight,  on  the  way,  at  a  ranch 
whose  owners  depended  more  upon  passing  travellers 
than  upon  the  bad  soil  and  the  thin  cattle.  And  here 
fate  threw  in  his  way  one  whom  he  would  have  gone 
well  out  of  that  way  to  find. 

It  was  a  civilian  with  whom  he  was  obliged  to  share 
his  room.  He  did  not  fancy  having  to  share  his  room 
at  all,  in  the  first  place,  and  this  and  other  things  made 
his  temper  bad.  The  civilian,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
in  good  temper,  and  inclined  to  be  communicative. 
He  tried  several  ways  of  opening  a  conversation,  and 
undaunted  by  rebuffs  tried  yet  once  more.  Like  Bruce 
and  the  spider,  it  was  exactly  the  seventh  time  that  he 
succeeded. 

"  How's  things  up  at  Grant  ?  "  he  drawled  through 
his  beard,  as  he  took  off  that  sacred  and  ceremonious 
garment  known  to  the  true  frontiersman  as  his  vest, 
and  without  which  he  feels  as  lost  as  without  his  high- 
heeled  boots. 

Brewster  mumbled  out  of  a  towel  that  he  guessed 
they  were  all  right,  and  implied  what  the  dickens  did 
it  matter  to  him  how  they  were. 

"  I  hear  you  got  Jack  Landor  up  there  ?  " 

Then  Brewster  began  to  listen. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  emptying  the  soap-caked  water  from 
the  Indian  basket  wash  basin  upon  the  earth  floor  ; 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  27 

"  why  ?  "  —  "I  used  to  know  him  in  '61.  He  came  up  to 
the  Mescalero  Agency  then,  not  long  before  the  Texans 
overran  the  place.  I  recollect  there  was  a  sort  of 
blizzard  and  it  was  seventeen  below.  He  came  after  a 
kid  me  and  another  feller'd  been  looking  after.  Pretty 
little  cuss,  about  four  years  old.  I  gave  her  her  first 
bow'n  arrow." 

Brewster  took  on  an  elaborate  and  entirely  unnec- 
essary air  of  indifference,  and  yawned  to  heighten  the 
effect.  "  What  did  he  want  of  the  child  ?  "  he  asked 
negligently. 

"  Her  father  was  dead.     He  left  her  to  him." 

"  Who  was  her  father  ?  "  Brewster  wanted  to  know. 

The  man  told  him.  "  He'd  been  a  private  up  to 
Stanton,  and  had  been  killed  by  some  of  Cochise's  people 
that  summer.  Her  mother  was  a  half-breed  by  the 
name  of  Felipa.  Good-looking  squaw,  but  dead,  too  — 
killed  by  Mexicans.  Do  you  happen  to  know  whatever 
became  of  the  kid  ?  " 

Brewster  told  him  that  she  was  with  Landor  at  the 
post  now. 

"  She  must  be  a  woman  by  this  time,"  reflected  the 
civilian.  "  Is  she  married  to  him  ?  " 

Brewster  explained  that  she  was  visiting  Captain 
Campbell's  family. 

Did  she  show  the  squaw  ?  he  asked.  "  Not  unless 
you  knew  it  was  there,"  the  officer  said  tolerantly. 
Then  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  with  that  peace  of 
mind  which  comes  of  a  proud  consciousness  of  holding 
the  handle  of  the  whip.  In  the  morning  he  got  the 


28  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

man's  name  and  address  before  he  went  on  up  to  the 
Agency. 

There  he  heard  of  Landor  again.  This  time  it  was 
through  Barnwell,  and  the  descriptions  were  pictur- 
esque. Brewster  encouraged  them,  paying  a  good  deal 
more  heed  to  them  than  to  the  little  complaints  of  the 
Indians  he  had  been  sent  up  to  investigate.  Then  he 
returned  to  Grant,  taking  with  him  in  the  ambulance 
an  enlisted  man  returning  to  receive  his  discharge. 

Barnwell  had  told  Brewster  about  him  also.  "  His 
name  is  Cairness, — Charles  Cairness,  — and  he's  got  a  lot 
of  fool  theories  too,"  he  explained.  "  He  goes  in  for 
art,  makes  some  pretty  good  paintings  of  the  Indians, 
and  has  picked  up  some  of  their  lingo.  Made  himself 
agreeable  to  the  squaws,  I  guess.  The  interpreter  says 
there's  one  got  her  nose  cut  off  by  her  buck,  on  his 
account." 

Brewster  suggested  that  he  thought  Crook  had  put 
a  stop  to  those  mutilations,  but  the  official  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"I  don't  know  how  true  it  was,  and  I  certainly 
ain't  going  to  look  her  up  in  her  rancheria  to  find  out." 

The  hero  of  the  episode  rode  in  the  ambulance,  sit- 
ting on  the  front  seat,  holding  his  carbine  across  his 
knees,  and  peering  with  sharp,  far-sighted  blue  eyes 
over  the  alkali  flats.  Occasionally  he  took  a  shot  at  a 
jack  rabbit  and  brought  it  down  unfailingly,  but  the 
frontiersman  has  no  relish  for  rabbit  meat,  and  it  was 
left  where  it  dropped,  for  the  crows.  He  also  brought 
down  a  sparrow  hawk  wounded  in  the  wing,  and,  hav- 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNKEST  29 

ing  bound  up  the  wound,  offered  it  to  Brewster,  who 
took  it  as  an  opening  to  a  conversation  and  tried  to 
draw  him  out. 

"  Barnwell  tells  me,"  he  began,  "  that  you  have  picked 
up  a  good  deal  of  Apache." 

"  Some  Sierra  Blanca,  sir,"  said  the  soldier.  It  was 
respectful  enough,  and  yet  there  was  somewhere  in  the 
man's  whole  manner  an  air  of  equality,  even  superiority, 
that  exasperated  the  lieutenant.  It  was  contrary  to 
good  order  and  military  discipline  that  a  private  should 
speak  without  hesitation,  or  without  offence  to  the  Eng- 
lish tongue. 

Brewster  resented  it,  and  so  the  next  thing  he  said 
was  calculated  to  annoy.  "  He  says  you  are  quite  one 
of  them." 

"He  is  mistaken,  sir." 

"  Have  you  an  Indian  policy  ?  " 

Cairness's  eyes  turned  from  a  little  ground  owl  on  the 
top  of  a  mound  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  "I 
really  can't  see,  sir,"  he  said,  "  how  it  can  matter  to 
any  one." 

It  did  not  in  the  least  matter  to  Brewster,  but  he  was 
one  of  those  trying  people  whom  Nature  has  deprived 
of  the  instinct  for  knowing  when  to  stop.  A  very  per- 
ceptible sneer  twitched  his  lips.  "You  seem  to  be 
English,"  he  said. 

"  I  am,"  announced  the  soldier. 

Now  it  is  a  hazardous  undertaking  to  question  an 
Englishman  who  does  not  care  to  be  questioned.  A 
person  of  good  judgment  would  about  as  lief  try  to 


30  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNKEST 

poke  up  a  cross  lion  to  play.  But  Brewster  persisted, 
and  asked  if  Cairness  would  be  willing  to  live  among 
the  Apaches. 

"They  have  their  good  traits,  sir,"  said  the  man, 
civilly,  "and  chief  among  them  is  that  they  mind  their 
own  business." 

It  was  impossible  to  misunderstand,  and  Brewster  was 
vexed  beyond  the  bounds  of  all  wisdom.  "  The  squaws 
have  their  good  traits,  too,  I  guess.  I  hear  one  had  her 
nose  cut  off  on  your  account."  He  should  not  have 
said  it.  He  knew  it,  and  he  knew  that  the  private 
knew  it,  but  the  man  made  no  reply  whatever. 

The  remainder  of  the  drive  Cairness  devoted  to 
caring  for  the  broken  wing  of  the  hawk,  and,  during 
halts,  to  sketching  anything  that  presented  itself,  —  the 
mules,  the  driver,  passing  Mexicans,  or  the  cows  trying 
to  graze  from  ground  where  the  alkali  formed  patches 
of  white  scum.  He  also  accomplished  a  fine  caricature 
of  the  lieutenant,  and  derived  considerable  silent  amuse- 
ment therefrom. 

The  night  of  their  return  to  the  post,  Cairness,  cross- 
ing the  parade  ground  shortly  before  retreat,  saw 
Felipa.  He  had  been  walking  with  his  eyes  on  the 
earth,  debating  within  himself  the  question  of  his 
future,  whether  he  should  reenlist,  succumb  to  the 
habit  of  the  service,  which  is  to  ambition  and  endeavor 
what  opium  is  to  the  system,  or  drop  back  into  the  yet 
more  aimless  life  he  had  been  leading  five  years  before, 
when  a  fit  of  self -disgust  had  caused  him  to  decide  that 
he  was  good  for  nothing  but  a  trooper,  if  even  that. 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  31 

A  long  sunset  shadow  fell  across  his  path,  and  he 
looked  up.  Felipa  was  walking  beside  a  little  white 
burro,  and  holding  Mrs.  Campbell's  golden-curled  baby 
upon  its  back.  She  carried  her  head  superbly  erect, 
and  her  step,  because  of  the  moccasins,  was  quite  noise- 
less. The  glow  of  the  sunset  shone  in  her  unflinching 
eyes,  and  lost  itself  in  the  dull  black  mass  of  her  hair. 
She  studied  his  face  calmly,  with  a  perfectly  impersonal 
approval. 

Cairness  went  on,  back  to  the  barracks,  and  sitting 
at  the  troop  clerk's  desk,  made  a  memory  sketch  of 
her.  It  did  not  by  any  means  satisfy  him,  but  he  kept 
it  nevertheless. 

That  night  he  sat  upon  the  edge  of  his  bunk,  in  the 
darkness,  after  taps,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  thought  the  matter  to  a  con- 
clusion. The  conclusion  was  that  he  would  not  reen- 
list,  and  the  reason  for  it  was  the  girl  he  had  met  on 
the  parade  ground.  He  knew  the  power  that  beauty 
had  over  him.  It  was  as  real,  as  irresistible,  as  a 
physical  sensation.  And  he  thought  Felipa  Cabot  the 
most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever  seen.  "  She  should 
be  done  in  a  heroic  bronze,"  he  told  himself  ;  "  but  as  I 
can't  do  it,  and  as  I  haven't  the  right  to  so  much  as 
think  about  her,  I  shall  be  considerably  happier  at  a 
distance,  so  I'll  go." 

He  went  the  next  day  but  one,  riding  out  of  the  post 
at  daylight.  And  he  saw  Felipa  once  more.  She  was 
standing  by  the  creek,  drawing  an  arrow  from  her 
quiver  and  fitting  it  to  her  bow.  Then  she  poised  the 


32  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

toe  of  her  left  foot  lightly  upon  the  ground,  bent  back, 
and  drew  the  bow  almost  to  a  semicircle.  The  arrow 
flew  straight  up  into  the  shimmering  air,  straight 
through  the  body  of  a  little  jay,  which  came  whirling, 
spinning  down  among  the  trees.  Felipa  gave  a  quick 
leap  of  delight  at  having  made  such  a  shot,  then  she 
darted  down  in  search  of  the  bird.  And  Cairness  rode 
on. 


Ill 

"  HULLO  there  I  " 

Cairness  drew  up  his  pinto  pony  in  front  of  a  group 
of  log  cabins,  and,  turning  in  his  saddle,  rested  his 
hands  upon  the  white  and  bay  flanks.  "  Hullo-o-o  I  " 
he  repeated. 

A  mule  put  its  head  over  the  wall  of  a  corral  and 
pricked  interrogative  ears.  Then  two  children,  as 
unmistakably  Angles  as  those  of  Gregory  the  Great, 
came  around  the  corner,  hand  in  hand,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  him.  And  at  length  a  man,  unmistakably  an 
Angle  too,  for  all  his  top  boots  and  flannel  shirt  and 
cartridge  belt,  came  striding  down  to  the  gate.  He 
opened  it  and  said,  "  Hullo,  Cairness,  old  chap,"  and 
Cairness  said,  "  How  are  you,  Kirby  ?  "  which  answered 
to  the  falling  upon  each  other's  neck  and  weeping,  of 
a  more  effusive  race. 

Then  they  walked  up  to  the  corral  together.  Kirby 
introduced  him  to  his  two  partners,  Englishmen  also, 
and  finished  nailing  up  the  boards  of  a  box  stall  which 
a  stallion  had  kicked  down  in  the  night.  After  that 
he  threw  down  his  hammer,  took  two  big  nails  from 
his  mouth,  and  sat  upon  the  tongue  of  a  wagon  to  talk 
long  and  earnestly,  after  the  manner  of  men  who  have 
shared  a  regretted  past. 

D  33 


34  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

"And  so,"  said  Kirby,  as  he  drew  a  sack  of  short 
cut  from  his  pocket  and  filled  his  brier,  "  and  so  you 
have  chucked  up  the  army?  What  are  you  going  to 
do  next  ?  Going  in  for  art  ?  " 

" Good  Lord !  no,"  Cairness's  smile  was  rueful.  "I've 
lost  all  ambition  of  that  sort  years  since.  I'm  too  old. 
I've  knocked  about  too  long,  and  I  dare  say  I  may  as 
well  knock  about  to  the  end." 

Kirby  suggested,  with  a  hesitation  that  was  born  not 
of  insincerity  but  of  delicacy,  that  they  would  be  aw- 
fully glad  to  have  him  stop  with  them  and  help  run 
the  Circle  K  Ranch.  But  Cairness  shook  his  head. 
"Thanks.  I'll  stop  long  enough  to  recall  the  old 
times,  though  I  dare  say  it  would  be  better  to  forget 
them,  wouldn't  it  ?  Ranching  isn't  in  my  line.  Not  that 
I  am  at  all  sure  what  is  in  my  line,  for  that  matter." 

After  a  while  Kirby  went  back  to  his  work,  directing 
several  Mexicans,  in  hopelessly  bad  Spanish,  and  labor- 
ing with  his  own  hands  at  about  the  proportion  of  three 
to  one. 

Cairness,  talking  to  one  of  the  other  men,  who  was 
mending  a  halter,  watched  him,  and  recalled  the  youth 
in  spotless  white  whom  he  had  last  seen  lounging  on 
the  deck  of  an  Oriental  liner  and  refusing  to  join  the 
sports  committee  in  any  such  hard  labor  as  getting  up 
a  cricket  match.  It  was  cooler  here  in  the  Arizona 
mountains,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  was  an  open  question  if 
life  were  as  well  worth  living. 

When  the  sun  was  at  midheaven,  and  the  shadows  of 
the  pines  beyond  the  clearing  fell  straight,  the  clang- 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  35 

ing  of  a  triangle  startled  the  mountain  stillness.  The 
Mexicans  dropped  their  tools,  and  the  white  teamster 
left  a  mule  with  its  galled  back  half  washed. 

In  a  moment  there  were  only  the  four  Englishmen  in 
the  corral. 

Kirby  finished  greasing  the  nut  of  a  wagon.  Then 
he  went  to  the  water  trough  and  washed  his  hands  and 
face,  drying  them  upon  a  towel  in  the  harness  room. 
He  explained  that  they  didn't  make  much  of  a  toilet 
for  luncheon. 

"  Luncheon  !  "  said  Cairness,  as  he  smoothed  his  hair 
in  front  of  a  speckled  and  wavy  mirror,  which  reflected 
all  of  life  that  came  before  it,  in  sickly  green,  "  caba- 
listic word,  bringing  before  me  memories  of  my  wasted 
youth.  There  was  a  chap  from  home  in  my  troop, 
until  he  deserted,  and  when  we  were  alone  we  would 
say  luncheon  below  our  breaths.  But  I  haven't  eaten 
anything  except  dinner  for  five  years." 

At  the  house  he  met  Kirby's  wife,  a  fair  young  woman, 
who  clung  desperately  here  in  the  wilderness,  to  the 
traditions,  and  to  as  many  of  the  customs  as  might  be, 
of  her  south-of -England  home. 

The  log  cabin  was  tidy.  There  were  chintz  curtains 
at  the  windows,  much  of  the  furniture,  of  ranch  manu- 
facture, was  chintz  covered,  the  manta  of  the  ceiling  was 
unstained,  there  were  pictures  from  London  Christmas 
papers  on  the  walls,  and  photographs  of  the  fair  women 
at  "home." 

There  were  also  magazines  and  a  few  books  in  more 
than  ooe  language,  wild  flowers  arranged  in  many  sorts 


36  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

of  strange  jars,  and  in  the  corner,  by  an  improvised 
couch,  a  table  stacked  with  cups  and  plates  of  Chelsea- 
Derby,  which  were  very  beautiful  and  very  much  out 
of  place. 

The  log  cabins  were  built,  five  of  them,  to  form  a 
square.  The  largest  contained  the  sitting  room  and  a 
bedroom,  the  three  others,  bedrooms  and  a  storehouse, 
and  the  kitchen  and  dining  room  were  in  the  fifth. 

When  they  went  into  this  last,  the  ranch  hands  were 
already  at  a  long  oilcloth-covered  table.  The  Kirbys 
sat  at  a  smaller  one,  laid  with  linen,  and  the  lank  wife 
of  one  of  the  men  served  them  all,  with  the  help  of  a 
Mexican  boy. 

Cairness  pitied  Mrs.  Kirby  sincerely.  But  if  she  felt 
herself  an  object  of  sympathy,  she  did  not  show  it. 

The  woman  fairly  flung  the  ill-cooked  food  upon  the 
table,  with  a  spitefulness  she  did  not  try  to  conceal. 
And  she  manifested  her  bad  will  most  particularly 
toward  the  pretty  children.  Cairness  felt  his  indig- 
nation rise  against  Kirby  for  having  brought  a  woman 
to  this,  in  the  name  of  love. 

"  We  have  tea  at  five,"  Mrs.  Kirby  told  him,  as  they 
finished,  and  her  husband  started  out  to  superintend 
and  help  with  the  digging  of  an  acequia. 

So  at  five  o'clock  Cairness,  coming  again  into  that 
part  of  the  cabin  which  his  hostess  persistently  named 
the  drawing-room,  found  the  three  Englishmen  taking 
their  tea,  and  a  little  man  in  clerical  garb  observing 
the  rite  with  considerable  uncertainty.  He  would  have 
no  tea  himself,  and  his  tone  expressed  a  deep  distrust 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  37 

of  the  beverage.  By  the  side  of  his  chair  stood  a  tall 
silk  hat.  It  was  in  all  probability  the  only  one  in  the 
territories,  or  west  of  the  Missouri,  for  that  matter, 
and  it  caught  Cairness's  eye  at  once,  the  more  especially 
as  it  was  pierced  by  two  round  holes.  As  he  stirred 
his  tea  and  ate  the  thin  slices  of  buttered  bread,  his 
glance  wandered  frequently  to  the  hat. 

"Lookin'  at  my  stove-pipe?"  asked  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Taylor.  "  Only  one  in  these  parts,  I  reckon,"  and  he 
vouchsafed  an  explanation  of  the  holes.  "  Them 
holes  ?  A  feller  in  Tucson  done  that  for  me." 

What  had  he  done  to  the  fellow,  if  he  might  ask, 
Cairness  inquired. 

"What  did  I  do?  The  same  as  he  done  unto  me. 
Let  the  air  into  his  sombrero."  He  told  them  that  he 
was  studying  the  flora  of  the  country,  and  travelling 
quite  alone,  with  an  Indian  pony,  a  pack-mule,  and  a 
dog  —  a  prospector's  outfit,  in  short. 

After  tea  the  ranchers  settled  down  to  smoke  and 
read.  The  Reverend  Taylor  brought  out  his  collec- 
tion of  specimens  and  dilated  upon  them  to  Cairness. 

"I  put  them  in  this  here  book,"  he  said,  "betwixt 
the  leaves,  and  then  I  put  the  book  under  my  saddle 
and  set  on  it.  I  don't  weigh  so  much,  but  it  works  all 
right,"  he  added,  looking  up  with  a  naive  smile  that 
reached  from  one  big  ear  to  the  other.  "  To-morrow," 
he  told  him  later,  "  I'm  going  to  ride  over  here  to  Tuc- 
son again.  What  way  might  you  be  takin'?" 

"  I  think  perhaps  I'll  go  with  you,  if  you'll  wait  over 
a  day,"  Cairness  told  him.  He  had  taken  a  distinct 


38  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

fancy  to  the  little  botanist  who  wore  his  clerical  garb 
while  he  rode  a  bronco  and  drove  a  pack-mule  over  the 
plains  and  mountains,  and  who  had  no  fear  of  the 
Apache  nor  of  the  equally  dangerous  cow-boy.  Cair- 
ness  asked  him  further  about  the  hat.  "That  chim- 
ney-pot of  yours,"  he  said,  "don't  you  find  it  rather 
uncomfortable?  It  is  hot,  and  it  doesn't  protect  you. 
Why  do  you  wear  it  ?  " 

The  little  man  picked  it  up  and  contemplated  it, 
with  his  head  on  one  side  and  a  critical  glance  at  its 
damaged  condition.  Then  he  smoothed  its  roughness 
with  the  palm  of  his  rougher  hand.  "  Why  do  I  wear 
it?"  he  drawled  calmly  ;  "well,  I  reckon  to  show  'em 
that  I  can." 

At  six  o'clock  Kirby  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe,  the  other  two  men,  who  had  buried  themselves  in 
the  last  Cornhill  and  Punch  with  entire  disregard  of 
the  rest  of  the  room,  put  down  the  magazines,  and  all 
of  them  rose.  "We  dine  at  seven,"  Mrs.  Kirby  said  to 
Taylor  and  Cairness  as  she  passed  through  the  door, 
followed  by  her  husband. 

"  Where  are  they  all  goin'  to?"  the  Reverend  Taylor 
asked  in  plaintive  dismay.  He  had  risen  to  his  feet 
because  he  had  seen  Cairness  do  it,  and  now  he  sat 
again  because  Cairness  had  dropped  back  on  the  couch. 
He  was  utterly  at  sea,  but  he  felt  that  the  safest  thing 
to  do  would  be  that  which  every  one  else  did.  He 
remembered  that  he  had  felt  very  much  the  same  once 
when  he  had  been  obliged  to  attend  a  funeral  service 
in  a  Roman  Catholic  Church.  All  the  purple  and  fine 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  39 

linen  of  the  Scarlet  Woman  and  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stance surrounding  her  had  bewildered  him  in  about 
this  same  way. 

Cairness  reached  out  for  the  discarded  Cornhill,  and 
settled  himself  among  the  cushions.  "  They're  going 
to  dress,  I  rather  think,'5  he  said.  The  minister  almost 
sprang  from  his  chair.  "  Good  Lord !  I  ain't  got  any 
other  clothes,"  he  cried,  looking  ruefully  at  his  dusty 
black. 

"Neither  have  I,"  Cairness  consoled  him,  from  the 
depths  of  a  rehearsal  of  the  unwisdom  of  Ismail  Pasha. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  sat  in  silence  for  a  time,  re- 
flecting. Then  he  broke  forth  again,  a  little  queru- 
lously. "  What  in  thunderation  do  they  dine  at  such 
an  hour  for  ?  "  Cairness  explained  that  it  was  an  Eng- 
lish custom  to  call  supper  dinner,  and  to  have  it  very  late. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Taylor,  and  sat  looking  into  the  fire. 

A  few  minutes  before  seven  they  all  came  back  into 
the  sitting  room.  The  men  wore  black  coats,  by  way 
of  compromise,  and  Mrs.  Kirby  and  the  children  were 
in  white. 

"Like  as  not  she  does  up  them  boiled  shirts  and 
dresses  herself,  don't  you  think  ? "  was  the  minister's 
awed  comment  to  Cairness,  as  they  went  to  bed  that 
night  in  the  bare  little  room. 

"  Like  as  not,"  Cairness  agreed. 

"  She's  mighty  nice  looking,  ain't  she  ?  " 

Cairness  said  "  yes "  rather  half  heartedly.  That 
fresh,  sweet  type  was  insipid  to  him  now,  when  there 
was  still  so  fresh  in  his  memory  the  beauty  of  a  black- 


40  THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

haired  girl,  with  eagle  eyes  that  did  not  flinch  before 
the  sun's  rays  at  evening  or  at  dawn. 

"  I'll  bet  the  help  don't  like  the  seven  o'clock  dinner." 

Cairness  suggested  that  they  were  given  their  supper 
at  six. 

"  I  know  that.  But  they  don't  like  it,  all  the  same. 
And  I'll  bet  them  cutaways  riles  them,  too." 

Cairness  himself  had  speculated  upon  that  subject  a 
good  deal,  and  had  noticed  with  a  slight  uneasiness  the 
ugly  looks  of  some  of  the  ranch  hands.  "They  are 
more  likely  to  have  trouble  in  that  quarter  than  with 
the  Indians,"  he  said  to  himself.  For  he  had  seen 
much,  in  the  ranks,  of  the  ways  of  the  disgruntled, 
free-born  American. 

Before  he  left  with  Taylor  on  the  next  morning  but 
one,  he  ventured  to  warn  Kirby.  But  he  was  met 
with  a  stolid  "  I  was  brought  up  that  way,"  and  he 
knew  that  argument  would  be  entirely  lost. 

"  Over  here  to  Tucson "  was  a  three  days'  ride 
under  the  most  favorable  circumstances ;  but  with  the 
enthusiastic  botanist  dismounting  at  short  intervals  to 
make  notes  and  press  and  descant  upon  specimens,  it 
was  five  days  before  they  reached,  towards  nightfall, 
the  metropolis  of  the  plains. 

They  went  at  once  for  supper  to  the  most  popular 
resort  of  the  town,  the  Great  Western  Saloon  and  Res- 
taurant. It  was  a  long  adobe  room,  the  whitewash  of 
which  was  discolored  by  lamp  smoke  and  fly  specks 
and  stains.  There  were  also  bullet  holes  and  marks  of 
other  missiles.  At  one  end  was  a  bar,  with  a  tin  top 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  41 

for  the  testing  of  silver  coins.  Several  pine  tables 
were  set  out  with  cracked  sugar  bowls,  inch-thick 
glasses,  bottles  of  pickles  and  condiments,  still  in  their 
paper  wrappings,  and  made  filthy  by  flies,  dust,  and 
greasy  hands.  Already  there  were  half  a  dozen  cow- 
boys and  Mexicans,  armed  to  the  teeth,  standing  about. 

They  glanced  sideways  at  the  big  Englishman,  who 
appeared  to  be  one  of  themselves,  and  at  the  little  min- 
ister. On  him,  more  especially  on  his  hat,  their  eyes 
rested  threateningly.  They  had  heard  of  him  before, 
most  of  them.  They  answered  his  genial  greeting  sur- 
lily, but  he  was  quite  unruffled.  He  beamed  upon  the 
room  as  he  seated  himself  at  one  of  the  tables  and 
ordered  supper,  for  which,  in  obedience  to  a  dirty  sign 
upon  the  wall,  he  paid  in  advance. 

Having  finished,  he  left  Cairness  to  his  own  devices, 
and  dragging  a  chair  under  a  bracket  lamp,  set  peace- 
fully about  reading  the  newspapers.  For  fully  an 
hour  no  one  heeded  him.  Cairness  talked  to  the  bar- 
tender and  stood  treat  to  the  aimless  loungers.  He 
had  many  months  of  back  pay  in  his  pocket,  and  to 
save  was  neither  in  his  character  nor  in  the  spirit  of 
the  country. 

The  ill-smelling  room  filled,  and  various  games, 
chiefly  faro  and  monte,  began.  At  one  table  two  men 
were  playing  out  a  poker  game  that  was  already  of  a 
week's  duration.  The  reek  of  bad  liquor  mingled  with 
the  smell  of  worse  tobacco  and  of  Mexican-cured 
leather  —  like  which  there  is  no  odor  known  to  the 
senses,  so  pungent  and  permeating  and  all-pervading  it 


42  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

is.  Several  of  the  bracket  lamps  were  sending  up  thin 
streams  of  smoke. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  gradually  became  aware  that 
the  air  was  very  bad.  He  laid  down  the  newspaper 
and  looked  round. 

Then  a  big  cow-boy  left  the  bar  and  loitering  over, 
with  a  clink  of  spurs,  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"  The  drinks  are  on  you,"  he  menaced.  The  minister 
chose  to  ignore  the  tone.  He  rose,  smiling,  and 
stretching  his  cramped  arms.  "All  right,  my  friend, 
all  right,"  he  said,  and  going  with  the  big  fellow  to 
the  bar  he  gave  a  general  invitation. 

In  the  expectation  of  some  fun  the  men  gathered 
round.  Those  at  the  tables  turned  in  their  chairs  and 
sat  watching  and  pulling  at  their  fierce  mustaches  as 
they  peered  from  under  the  brims  of  their  sombreros. 
In  the  midst  of  them  all  the  little  parson  looked  even 
smaller  than  he  was.  But  he  was  sweetly  undaunted 
and  good-humored. 

When  the  barkeeper  had  served  the  others,  he  turned 
to  him.  "  What'll  you  take  ?  "  he  demanded,  not  too 
courteously. 

"  I'll  take  a  lemon  soda,  thanks,"  said  Taylor. 

There  followed  one  of  those  general  pauses  as  explo- 
sive as  a  pistol  shot. 

Then  the  cow-boy  who  had  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der suggested  that  he  had  better  take  a  man's  drink. 

But  he  was  not  to  be  changed.  "I'll  take  lemon 
soda,"  he  said  to  the  tender,  with  an  amiability  that  the 
cow-boy  made  the  mistake  of  taking  for  indecision. 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  48 

"  You  better  do  what  I  say  !  "  He  was  plainly  spoil- 
ing for  a  fight. 

But  the  minister  still  refused  to  see  it.  He  looked 
him  very  squarely  in  the  eyes  now,  however.  "See 
here,  I  am  going  to  take  lemon  pop,  my  friend,"  he 
said. 

The  friend  swore  earnestly  that  he  would  take  what 
he  was  told  to. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  good  fellow,  because  I  won't." 
There  was  not  the  shadow  of  hesitation  in  his  voice,  nor 
did  he  lower  his  mild  blue  eyes. 

The  cow-boy  broadened  the  issue.  "You  will, 
and  you'll  take  off  that  plug,  too,  or  I'll  know  what 
for." 

"  I  reckon  you'll  know  what  for,  then,"  beamed  Tay- 
lor, immovably. 

Cairness  had  been  standing  afar  off,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  watching  with  a  gleam  of  enjoyment  under 
his  knitted  brows,  but  he  began  to  see  that  there  threat- 
ened to  be  more  to  this  than  mere  baiting ;  that  the 
desperado  was  growing  uglier  as  the  parson  grew  more 
firmly  urbane.  He  drew  near  his  small  travelling  com- 
panion and  took  his  hands  suddenly  from  his  pockets, 
as  the  cow-boy  whipped  out  a  brace  of  six-shooters  and 
pointed  them  at  the  hat. 

Slowly,  with  no  undue  haste  whatever,  the  Reverend 
Taylor  produced  from  beneath  the  skirts  of  his  clerical 
garb  another  revolver.  There  was  a  derisive  and  hilari- 
ous howl.  When  it  had  subsided,  he  turned  to  the  bar- 
keeper. "  Got  my  lemon  pop  ready  ?  "  he  asked.  The 


44  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

man  pushed  it  over  to  him,  and  he  took  it  up  in  his  left 
hand. 

"  Drop  that !  "  called  the  cow-boy. 

"  Here's  how,"  said  the  parson,  and  raised  his  glass. 
A  bullet  shattered  it  in  his  grasp. 

Cairness,  his  hand  on  the  butt  of  his  own  pistol,  won- 
dered, a  little  angrily,  if  Taylor  were  never  going  to  be 
roused. 

He  had  looked  down  at  the  broken  glass  and  the 
stream  of  water,  and  then  up  quite  as  calmly  but  a  little 
less  smilingly.  "  If  you  do  that  again,  I'll  shoot,"  he 
said.  "Give  me  another  pop." 

There  was  a  chuckle  from  the  group,  and  a  chorus  to 
the  effect  that  they  would  be  eternally  condemned,  the 
truth  of  which  was  patent  in  their  faces.  "  Leave  the 
little  codger  be,"  some  one  suggested  ;  "  he  ain't  skeered 
worth  a  sour  apple." 

It  would  have  become  the  sentiment  of  the  crowd  in 
another  moment,  but  the  little  codger  took  up  the  second 
glass,  and  raised  it  again.  Then  it  fell  smashing  to  the 
floor.  A  second  bullet  had  broken  his  wrist. 

Cairness  started  forward  and  levelled  his  Colt,  but  the 
divine  was  too  quick  for  him.  He  fired,  and  the  cow- 
boy sank  down,  struggling,  shot  through  the  thigh.  As 
he  crouched,  writhing,  on  the  ground,  he  fired  again,  but 
Cairness  kicked  the  pistol  out  of  his  hand,  and  the  bullet, 
deflected,  went  crashing  in  among  the  bottles. 

"  Now,"  said  Taylor,  distinctly,  "  oblige  me  with  an- 
other lemon  pop,  mister."  A  cheer  went  up,  and  the 
minister  standing  above  his  fallen  enemy  raised  the 


THE  HEEITAGE  OF  UNKEST  45 

third  glass.  "  Here's  to  your  better  judgment  next 
time,  my  friend.  'Tain't  the  sombrero  makes  the  shot," 
he  said.  His  seamed,  small  face  was  pale  underneath 
its  leathery  skin,  but  by  not  so  much  as  a  quiver  of  an 
eyelid  did  he  give  any  further  sign  of  pain. 

"The  gentleman  who  broke  them  glasses  can  settle 
for  his  part  of  the  fun,"  he  said,  as  he  paid  his  reckon- 
ing. Then  he  drew  Cairness  aside  and  held  out  the 
limp  wrist  to  be  bound,  supporting  it  with  his  other 
hand.  And  presently  they  went  out  from  the  restau- 
rant, where  the  powder  smoke  was  added  to  the  other 
smells,  and  hung  low,  in  streaks,  in  the  thick  atmosphere, 
to  hunt  up  a  surgeon. 

The  surgeon,  whose  lore  was  not  profound,  and  whose 
pharmacy  exhibited  more  reptiles  in  alcohol  than  drugs, 
set  the  bones  as  best  he  knew  how,  which  was  badly  ; 
and,  taking  a  fancy  to  Taylor,  offered  him  and  Cairness 
lodgings  for  the  night,  —  the  hospitality  of  the  West 
being  very  much,  in  those  times,  like  that  of  the  days 
when  the  preachers  of  a  new  Gospel  were  bidden  to 
enter  into  a  house  and  there  abide  until  they  departed 
from  that  place. 

In  the  morning  Cairness  left  them  together  and  started 
for  the  San  Carlos  Agency.  He  was  to  meet  a  pro- 
spector there,  and  to  begin  his  new  fortunes  by  locating 
some  mines. 


IV 

IT  was  a  bitterly  cold  January  morning.  There  had 
been  a  rain  in  the  night,  and  the  clouds  yet  hung  gray 
over  Mt.  Graham  and  the  black  gap.  The  wet  wind 
went  howling  over  the  valley,  so  that  the  little  flag  at 
the  top  of  the  staff  snapped  and  whipped  as  though  it 
would  be  torn  from  the  halyards.  Sunday  inspection 
and  guard  mounting  had  been  chilling  ceremonies,  per- 
formed in  overcoats  that  were  hardly  more  blue  than 
the  men's  faces.  Having  finished  them,  Brewster 
hurried  across  the  parade  to  Captain  Campbell's 
quarters. 

He  found  Felipa  curled  on  the  blanket  in  front  of  a 
great  fire,  and  reading  by  the  glare  of  the  flames,  which 
licked  and  roared  up  the  wide  chimney,  a  history  of  the 
Jesuit  missionaries.  It  was  in  French,  and  she  must 
have  already  known  it  by  heart,  for  it  seemed  to  be  al- 
most the  only  book  she  cared  about.  She  had  become 
possessed  of  its  three  volumes  from  a  French  priest  who 
had  passed  through  the  post  in  the  early  winter  and  had 
held  services  there.  He  had  been  charmed  with  Felipa 
and  with  her  knowledge  of  his  own  tongue.  It  was 
a  truly  remarkable  knowledge,  considering  that  it  had 
been  gained  at  a  boarding-school. 

"You  speak  with  the  utmost  fluency,  my  daughter," 

46 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  47 

he  had  commended,  and  she  had  explained  that  she 
found  expression  more  easy  in  French. 

"  It  is  curious,"  she  said,  "  but  it  has  always  seemed 
as  though  English  were  not  my  native  tongue." 

When  the  father  returned  to  Tucson,  he  had  sent  her 
the  history,  and  she  had  read  and  reread  it.  In  a  way 
she  was  something  of  a  linguist,  for  she  had  picked  up 
a  good  deal  of  Spanish  from  Mexicans  about  the  post, 
chiefly  from  the  nurse  of  the  Campbell  children. 

There  is  a  certain  class  of  persons  to  whom  it  is  al- 
ways irritating  to  find  any  one  reading  a  book.  It  rubs 
them  the  wrong  way  instantly.  They  will  frequently 
argue  that  their  own,  and  the  best,  manner  of  studying 
life  is  from  nature  —  an  excellent  theory  in  sound,  and 
commonly  accepted  as  unanswerable,  but  about  as  practi- 
cal in  fact  as  the  study  of  music  on  the  instrument  alone, 
without  primer  or  method. 

The  mere  sight  of  Felipa  on  the  buffalo  robe  before 
the  fire,  poring  over  the  old  history,  exasperated  Brew- 
ster.  "  That  book  again  ?  "  he  said  crossly,  as  he  drew 
up  a  chair  and  held  out  his  hands  to  the  flames  ;  "  you 
must  know  it  by  heart." 

"  I  do,"  she  answered,  blinking  lazily. 

He  reflected  that  it  is  a  trait  of  the  semi-civilized  and 
of  children  that  they  like  their  tales  often  retold.  But 
he  did  not  say  so.  He  was  holding  that  in  reserve. 
Instead,  he  changed  the  subject,  with  an  abrupt  inquiry 
as  to  whether  she  meant  to  ride  to-day.  "  I  suppose 
not  ?  "  he  added. 

"  I  do,  though,"  she  said  perversely,  as  she  bent  her 


48  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNKEST 

head  and  tried  to  put  into  order  the  tumbled  mass  of 
her  hair.     "  I  am  going  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"Alone?" 

"No,  not  alone." 

"  It  is  bitterly  cold." 

"  I  don't  mind,  and  neither  does  Captain  Landor." 
Her  guardian  had  recently  gotten  his  captaincy. 

Brewster's  irritation  waxed.  "Landor  again?  "  he 
queried  suggestively. 

"  Landor  again,"  she  yawned,  ignoring  his  meaning- 
fraught  tone.  But  she  watched  his  face  from  under 
her  long  lashes. 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  door.  It  was 
closed  ;  so  he  leaned  forward  and  spoke  in  a  lower  voice. 
"Felipa,  are  you  going  to  marry  Landor,  or  are  you 
not?" 

It  was  more  than  a  mere  impertinent  question,  and 
she  did  not  pretend  to  ignore  it  any  longer.  She 
clasped  her  hands  slowly  about  her  knees  and  looked 
straight  at  him. 

But  he  was  unabashed.  "  What  is  he  to  you  ?"  he 
insisted. 

She  thought  for  a  moment  before  she  answered. 
Then  she  spoke  deliberately,  and  there  was  a  purring 
snarl  under  her  voice.  "  It  is  none  of  your  business 
that  I  can  see.  But  I  will  tell  you  this  much,  he  is 
a  man  I  respect ;  and  that  is  more  than  I  have  said  of 
you  when  I  have  been  asked  the  same  question." 

"  It  is  not  only  my  business,"  he  said,  overlooking 
the  last,  and  bending  more  eagerly  forward,  "  it  is  not 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  49 

only  my  business,  it  is  the  business  of  the  whole  post. 
You  are  being  talked  about,  my  dear  young  lady." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  so  suddenly  that  her  arm 
struck  him  a  blow  in  the  face,  and  stood  close  in  front 
of  him,  digging  her  nails  into  her  palms  and  breathing 
hard.  "  If  you  —  if  you  dare  to  say  that  again,  I  will 
kill  you.  I  can  do  it.  You  know  that  I  can,  and  I 
will.  I  mean  what  I  say,  I  will  kill  you."  And  she 
did  mean  what  she  said,  for  the  moment,  at  any  rate. 
There  was  just  as  surely  murder  in  her  soul  as  though 
those  long,  strong  hands  had  been  closed  on  his  throat. 
Her  teeth  were  bared  and  her  whole  face  was  distorted 
with  fury  and  the  effort  of  controlling  it.  She  drew 
up  a  chair,  after  a  moment,  and  sat  in  it.  It  was  she 
who  was  leaning  forward  now,  and  he  had  shrunk  back, 
a  little  cowed.  "  I  know  what  you  are  trying  to  do," 
she  told  him,  more  quietly,  her  lips  quivering  into  a 
sneer,  "you  are  trying  to  frighten  me  into  marrying 
you.  But  you  can't  do  it.  I  never  meant  to,  and  now 
I  would  die  first." 

He  saw  that  the  game  had  reached  that  stage  where 
he  must  play  his  trump  card,  if  he  were  to  have  any 
chance.  "You  are  a  mean  little  thing,"  he  laughed. 
"It  is  the  Apache  blood,  I  suppose." 

She  sat  for  a  moment  without  answering.  It  was 
less  astonishment  than  that  she  did  not  understand. 
She  knitted  her  brow  in  a  puzzled  frown. 

But  he  mistook  her  silence  for  dismay,  and  went  on. 
"It  is  only  what  one  might  expect  from  the  daughter 
of  a  drunken  private  and  a  Mescalero  squaw." 


50  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

She  was  still  silent,  but  she  leaned  nearer,  watching 
his  face,  her  lips  drawn  away  from  her  sharp  teeth,  and 
her  eyes  narrowing.  She  understood  now. 

In  his  growing  uneasiness  he  blundered  on  rashly. 
"You  didn't  know  it?  But  it  is  true.  Ask  your 
guardian.  Do  you  think  he  would  have  you  for  a 
wife  ?  "  He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  He  hates  an  Apache 
as  he  does  a  Gila  monster.  Very  few  men  would  be 
willing  to  risk  it." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  tapping  her  foot  upon 
the  floor.  It  was  the  only  sign  of  excitement,  but  the 
look  of  her  face  was  not  good. 

Brewster  avoided  it,  and  became  absorbed  in  making 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  meet  as  he  pressed  his  hands 
together. 

"Still,"  said  Felipa,  too  quietly,  "I  would  rather  be 
the  daughter  of  a  drunken  private  and  a  Mescalero 
squaw  than  the  wife  of  a  coward  and  sneak." 

He  stood  up  and  went  nearer  to  her,  shaking  his 
finger  in  her  face.  He  knew  that  he  had  lost,  and 
he  was  reckless.  "  You  had  better  marry  me,  or  I  will 
tell  your  birth  from  the  housetops."  But  he  was  mak- 
ing the  fatal  mistake  of  dealing  with  the  child  that  had 
been,  instead  of  with  the  woman  he  had  aroused. 

She  laughed  at  him — the  first  false  laugh  that  had 
ever  come  from  her  lips.  "  You  had  better  go  now," 
she  said,  rising  and  standing  with  her  arms  at  her  side, 
and  her  head  very  erect. 

He  hesitated,  opening  his  mouth  to  speak  and  shut- 
ting it  again  irresolutely. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  51 

"  I  told  you  to  go,"  she  repeated,  raising  her  brows. 

He  took  up  his  cap  from  the  table,  and  went. 

When  Landor  came  in  half  an  hour  later  he  found 
her  in  her  riding  habit,  sitting  in  front  of  the  fire.  She 
was  still  alone,  and  he  felt  instantly  that  there  was 
more  softness  than  ever  before  in  the  smile  she  gave 
him,  more  womanliness  in  the  clinging  of  her  hand. 
Altogether  in  her  attitude  and  manner  there  was  less 
of  the  restlessly  youthful.  He  drew  a  chair  beside  hers, 
and  settled  back  comfortably. 

"  Mr.  Brewster  has  just  been  here,"  she  said  at  length, 
and  she  played  with  the  lash  of  her  whip,  avoiding  his 
eyes,  which  was  also  a  new  way  for  her. 

"  I  wish  Brewster  would  not  come  so  often,"  he 
said. 

For  answer  she  put  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  upon 
his,  not  as  she  had  often  done  it  before,  in  the  unatten- 
tive  eagerness  of  some  argument,  but  slowly,  with  a 
shadow  of  hesitation. 

He  was  surprised,  but  he  was  pleased  too,  and  he 
took  the  long  fingers  in  his  and  held  them  gently. 

"  Do  you  still  want  me  to  marry  you  ?  "  she  asked 
him. 

He  told  her  that  he  most  certainly  did,  and  she 
went  on. 

"  Is  it  because  you  think  you  ought  to,  or  because 
you  really  want  me  ?  "  She  was  looking  at  him  steadily 
now,  and  he  could  not  have  lied  to  her.  But  the 
slender  hand  was  warm  and  clinging,  the  voice  low  and 
sweet,  the  whole  scene  so  cosey  and  domestic,  and  she 


52  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

herself  seemed  so  much  more  beautiful  than  ever,  that 
he  answered  that  it  was  because  he  wanted  her  —  and 
for  the  moment  it  was  quite  true.  Had  so  much  as  a 
blush  come  to  her  cheek,  had  she  lowered  her  earnest 
gaze,  had  her  voice  trembled  ever  so  little,  it  might 
have  been  true  for  all  time.  But  she  threw  him  back 
upon  himself  rudely,  with  an  unfeminine  lack  of  tact 
that  was  common  with  her.  "  Then  I  will  marry  you 
whenever  you  wish,"  she  said. 

"  I  began  to  tell  you,"  she  resumed  directly,  "  that 
Mr.  Brewster  was  here,  and  that  he  informed  me  that 
my  mother  was  a  squaw  and  my  father  a  drunken 
private." 

Landor  jumped  up  from  his  chair.  "  Felipa  !  "  he 
cried.  At  first  he  was  more  shocked  and  sorry  for  her 
than  angry  with  Brewster. 

"  I  don't  mind,"  she  began  ;  and  then  her  strict 
truthfulness  coming  uppermost,  she  corrected  herself : 
"At  least,  I  don't  mind  very  much,  not  so  much  as  you 
thought  I  would." 

He  strode  up  and  down,  his  face  black  with  rage, 
expressing  his  violent  opinion  of  Brewster.  Then  he 
came  to  a  stop,  in  front  of  her.  "  How  did  he  happen 
to  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  explained.  "  He  says  he  will  tell  it  broadcast," 
she  ended,  "  but  he  won't.  It  wouldn't  be  safe,  and  he 
knows  it."  Her  cool  self-possession  had  its  effect  on 
him.  He  studied  her  curiously  and  began  to  calm 
down. 

She  asked  him  about  her  father  and  mother.     Going 


THE   HERITAGE  OP  TJNEEST  53 

back  to  his  chair  he  told  her  everything  that  he  knew, 
save  only  the  manner  of  Cabot's  death.  "  Then  I  took 
you  to  Yuma,"  he  finished,  "and  from  there  to  the 
East,  via  Panama."  There  was  a  pause.  And  then 
came  the  question  he  had  most  dreaded. 

"Did  my  father  leave  me  any  money? "  she  asked. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  admit  that  from  the 
day  of  her  father's  death  she  had  been  utterly  Lander's 
dependant,  —  at  a  cost  to  him  of  how  many  pleasures, 
she,  who  knew  the  inadequacy  of  a  lieutenant's  pay, 
could  easily  guess. 

She  sat  thinking,  with  her  chin  in  her  palm,  and  a 
quite  new  look  of  loneliness  deep  in  her  eyes.  He 
could  see  that  in  the  last  hour  she  had  grasped  almost 
the  fulness  of  her  isolation  —  almost,  but  not  all ;  only 
the  years  could  bring  forth  the  rest.  She  gave  a  heavy 
sigh.  "  Well,  I  am  glad  I  love  you,"  she  said. 

But  he  knew  that  she  did  not  love  him.  She  was 
grateful.  It  was  sometimes  an  Apache  trait.  He 
realized  that  it  was  his  curse  and  hers  that  he  could 
not  for  an  instant  forget  the  strain.  He  read  her 
character  by  it,  half  unconsciously.  He  saw  it  in  her 
honesty,  her  sinewy  grace,  her  features,  her  fearless- 
ness, her  kindness  with  children,  —  they  were  all  Apache 
characteristics  ;  and  they  were  all  repellent.  From  his 
youth  on,  he  had  associated  the  race  with  cruelty  and 
every  ghastly  sight  he  had  come  upon,  on  the  plains 
and  in  the  mountains.  It  was  a  prejudice  with  more 
than  the  force  of  a  heritage.  He  went  on  with  his  study 
of  her,  as  she  sat  there.  He  was  always  studying  her. 


54  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

But  he  could  not  decide  whether  it  was  that  she  lacked 
sensitiveness  and  was  really  not  greatly  disturbed,  or  a 
savage  sort  of  pride  in  concealing  emotions. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  shaking  off  an  impatience  with 
her  and  with  himself.  "  Come,"  he  said  peremptorily  ; 
and  they  went  out  and  mounted  and  rode  away  in  the 
face  of  a  whipping  wind  up  the  gradual  slope  to  the 
mountains,  black  and  weird  beneath  the  heavy,  low- 
hanging  rain  clouds. 

Felipa  had  taught  her  horse  to  make  its  average  gait 
a  run,  and  she  would  have  started  it  running  now,  but 
that  Landor  checked  her.  It  was  high  time,  he  said, 
that  he  should  teach  her  to  ride.  Now  she  was  more 
than  a  little  proud  of  her  horsemanship,  so  she  was 
annoyed  as  well  as  surprised. 

But  he  went  on,  instructing  her  how  it  was  not  all  of 
riding  to  stick  on,  and  rather  a  question  of  saving  and 
seat  and  the  bit. 

"  You  give  your  horse  a  sore  back  whenever  you  go 
far,  and  you  always  bring  him  back  in  a  lather." 

It  was  half  because  she  felt  it  would  prick  him,  and 
half  in  humility,  that  she  answered,  "  I  suppose  that  is 
the  Indian  in  me." 

His  horse  started.  He  had  dug  it  with  the  rowels. 
Then  he  reined  it  in  with  a  jerk  that  made  it  champ  its 
curb.  "Don't  dwell  on  that  all  the  time,"  he  said 
angrily  ;  "  forget  it."  And  then  it  flashed  across  him, 
the  irreparable  wrong  he  would  be  doing  her  if  he 
taught  her  to  consider  the  Apache  blood  a  taint. 

She  gave  him  an  odd,  furtive  glance  and  did  not 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  55 

answer  for  a  time.  He  was  never  quite  able  to  divine 
with  her  just  how  much  of  his  thoughts  she  under- 
stood, and  it  put  him  at  some  disadvantage. 

Presently  she  said:  "  I  can't  forget.  And  you  can't. 
As  for  other  people  —  they  don't  matter  anyway. "  In 
her  scheme  of  things  other  people  rarely  did  matter. 
She  hedged  herself  round  with  a  barrier  of  indifference 
that  was  very  nearly  contempt,  and  encouraged  no 
intimacies  —  not  even  with  Landor.  And  he  knew  it. 

She  made  it  plainer  to  him  by  and  by,  as  she  went 
on  to  advise  his  course  about  Brewster.  "If  I  were 
you,  I  would  ignore  his  having  told  me,  Jack.  I  ought 
to  have  pretended  that  I  knew  it,  but  I  was  taken  by 
surprise.  He  must  not  think  you  resent  it  as  though 
it  were  an  insult,  though.  As  for  me,  I  won't  have  any- 
thing more  to  do  with  him  ;  but  that  is  for  reasons  of 
my  own." 

He  demanded  that  he  be  told  the  reasons,  but  she 
refused  very  sweetly  and  very  decidedly.  And  he  was 
forced  to  accept  the  footing  upon  which  she  placed 
him,  for  all  time. 

******** 

It  was  quite  in  keeping  with  everything  that  had 
gone  before  that,  the  day  after  a  passing  Franciscan 
priest  had  married  them,  Landor  should  have  been 
ordered  off  upon  a  scout,  and  Felipa  should  have  taken 
it  as  a  matter  of  course,  shedding  no  tears,  and  showing 
no  especial  emotion  beyond  a  decent  regret. 

They  had  not  gone  upon  a  wedding  trip  for  the  ex- 
cellent reason  that  there  was  no  place  to  go  ;  and  as 


56  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

they  sat  at  dinner  together  in  their  sparsely  furnished 
quarters,  there  was  a  timid  ring  at  the  door-bell,  and 
Lander's  Chinaman,  the  cook  of  his  bachelor  days, 
ushered  in  the  commanding  officer,  who  looked  humble 
apology  for  the  awkwardness  of  a  visit  he  could  not 
delay.  He  went  straight  to  the  matter  in  hand,  in 
spite  of  the  tactful  intentions  that  had  made  him  come 
himself  instead  of  sending  a  subordinate. 

"I  say,  Landor,"  he  began,  after  having  outwardly 
greeted  Felipa  and  inwardly  cursed  his  luck  at  being 
obliged  to  tear  a  man  away  from  so  fair  a  bride,  "  I  say, 
there's  been  the  dickens  of  a  row  up  at  the  Agency." 

Landor  went  on  with  his  dinner  coolly  enough. 
"  There's  quite  likely  to  be  that  at  any  time,"  he  said, 
"  so  long  as  a  pious  and  humane  Indian  Bureau  sends  out 
special  agents  of  the  devil  who  burn  down  the  Agency 
buildings  of  peaceful  Apaches  as  a  means  of  inducing 
them  to  seek  illness  and  death  in  malarious  river 
bottoms." 

"  That,"  objected  the  major,  testily,  "  is  ancient  his- 
tory. This  trouble  started  the  way  of  most  of  the 
troubles  of  this  age  —  whiskey."  In  his  agitation  he 
carefully  spilled  a  spoonful  of  salt  on  the  cloth  and 
scraped  it  into  a  little  mound  with  a  knife.  Then 
recollecting  that  spilled  salt  causes  quarrels,  he  hur- 
riedly threw  a  pinch  of  it  over  his  left  shoulder.  "  And 
—  and,  the  worst  of  the  whole  business  is,  old  man, 
that  you've  got  to  go.  Your  troop  and  one  from 
Apache  are  ordered  out.  I'm  awfully  sorry."  He 
would  not  look  at  Felipa  at  all.  But  he  stared  Landor 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  57 

fairly  out  of  countenance,  as  he  waited  for  a  storm  of 
tears  and  protestations. 

When,  therefore,  Mrs.  Landor  said,  with  the  utmost 
composure,  that  it  was  too  bad,  his  gasp  was  audible. 

The  captain  knitted  his  thick  brows  and  interposed 
quickly,  talking  against  time.  "If  the  Tucson  ring 
and  the  Indian  Bureau  had  one  head,  I  should  like  the 
detail  of  cutting  it  off."  His  annoyance  seemed  to  be 
of  an  impersonal  sort,  and  the  commandant  began  to 
feel  that  he  must  have  handled  the  thing  rather  well, 
after  all.  He  gained  in  self-esteem  and  equanimity. 

Felipa  rose  from  the  table,  and  going  over  to  her 
husband  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  She  asked 
when  he  must  go.  "  To-night,  my  dear  lady,  I  am 
afraid,"  soothed  the  commandant.  But  she  appeared 
to  be  in  no  need  of  humoring,  as  she  turned  to  Landor 
and  offered  to  do  what  she  might  to  help  him. 

He  had  dreaded  a  scene,  but  he  was  not  so  sure  that 
this  was  not  worse.  "  You  are  the  wife  for  a  soldier," 
he  said  somewhat  feebly ;  "  no  tears  and  fuss  and  —  all 
that  kind  of  thing." 

Landor  winced  as  he  folded  his  napkin  and  stood  up. 
"  I  am  ready,"  he  said,  and  going  into  the  long  hallway 
took  his  cap  from  the  rack  and  went  with  the  major 
out  into  the  night. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  back,  and  having  produced 
his  scouting  togs  from  the  depths  of  a  sky-blue  chest, 
smelling  horribly  of  tobacco  and  camphor,  he  fell  to 
dressing. 

Felipa  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk  and  talked  to 


58  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

him,  a  little  excited,  and  very  anxious  to  try  what  a 
scout  was  like  for  herself. 

As  he  put  on  his  faded  blouse  he  went  and  stood 
before  her,  holding  out  his  arms.  She  moved  over  to 
him  and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  "  Are  you  not 
sorry  to  have  me  go  ?  "  he  asked,  in  the  tones  of  one 
having  a  grievance.  He  felt  that  he  was  entitled  to 
something  of  the  sort. 

Of  course  she  was  sorry,  she  protested,  a  little  indig- 
nant that  he  should  ask  it.  She  would  be  horribly 
lonesome. 

He  tried  hard  to  warm  her  to  something  more  per- 
sonal. "I  might  never  come  back,  you  know,  dear." 
He  realized  that  he  was  absolutely  begging  for  affection, 
most  futile  and  unavailing  of  all  wastes  of  energy. 

But  she  only  answered  that  that  was  unlikely  and 
slipped  her  arm  around  his  neck,  as  she  added  that  if 
anything  were  to  happen  to  him,  she  would  not  have 
one  real  friend  in  the  world.  There  was  something 
pathetic  in  the  quiet  realization  of  her  loneliness. 

He  stroked  her  hair  pityingly.  After  all,  she  was 
only  a  half-savage  creature  bound  to  him  by  the  ties  of 
gratitude.  He  had  seen  the  same  thing  in  a  Chiricahua 
girl  baby  he  had  once  rescued,  horribly  burned,  from 
the  fire  of  an  abandoned  Indian  camp,  where  she  had 
been  thrown  by  the  fleeing  hostiles,  because  she  was 
sickly  and  hampered  their  progress.  The  hideous, 
scarred  little  thing  had  attached  herself  to  him  like  a 
dog,  and  had  very  nearly  pined  herself  to  death  when 
he  had  had  to  leave  her  for  good.  Afterward  she  had 


THE  HEEITAGE  OF  UNREST  59 

married  —  at  the  ripe  age  of  twelve  —  a  buck  of  her 
own  tribe.  He  thought  of  how  she  also  had  slipped 
her  hard,  seamed  arm  around  his  neck,  and  he  drew 
away  from  Felipa. 

When,  in  the  darkness  of  a  cloudy  night,  he  said 
good-by  to  her  on  the  road  before  his  quarters,  bend- 
ing to  kiss  the  warm  mouth  he  could  not  see,  he  knew 
that  it  would  have  been  possible  for  him  to  have  loved 
her,  had  she  been  nearly  all  that  she  was  not. 

Then  he  mounted  the  horse  the  orderly  held  for  him, 
and  trotted  off. 


THE  Gila  River  cutting  straight  across  the  southern 
portion  of  Arizona,  from  the  Alkali  flats  on  the  east 
to  the  Colorado  at  Yuma  on  the  west,  flowed  then  its 
whole  course  through  desolation.  Sometimes  cotton- 
woods  and  sycamore  trees  rose  in  the  bottom,  and  there 
was  a  patch  of  green  around  some  irrigated  land.  But, 
for  the  most  part,  the  basin  was  a  waste  of  glittering 
sand  and  white  dust,  and  beyond,  the  low  hills,  bare  of 
every  plant  save  a  few  stunted  wild  flowers,  cacti  and 
sage,  greasewood  and  mesquite,  rolled  for  miles  and 
miles  of  barrenness.  The  chicken  hawk  and  crow 
sailed  through  the  fiercely  blue  sky,  the  air  waved  and 
quivered  with  incredible  heat.  At  night  malaria  rose 
from  the  ground,  the  coyote  barked  and  whined  at 
the  light  of  the  brilliant  stars,  and  the  polecat  prowled 
deliberately. 

Here,  toward  the  eastern  part  of  the  territory,  the 
government  had  portioned  off  the  San  Carlos  Agency 
for  its  Apache  wards,  and  some  thirty  miles  away,  not 
far  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  Camp  Thomas  for  its 
faithful  soldiery. 

On  a  day  when  the  mercury  registered  120  degrees, 
Felipa  Landor  drove  into  the  camp.  Her  life,  since  her 
marriage  three  years  before,  had  been  the  usual  nomadic 

60 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  61 

one  of  the  place  and  circumstances,  rarely  so  much  as  a 
twelvemonth  in  one  place,  never  certain  for  one  day 
where  the  next  would  find  her.  Recently  Landor  had 
been  stationed  at  the  headquarters  of  the  Department 
of  Arizona.  But  Felipa  had  made  no  complaint  what- 
ever at  having  to  leave  the  gayest  post  in  the  territories 
for  the  most  God-forsaken,  and  she  refused  flatly  to 
go  East.  "I  can  stand  anything  that  you  can,"  she 
told  her  husband  when  he  suggested  it,  which  was 
apparently  true  enough,  for  now,  in  a  heat  that  was 
playing  out  the  very  mules,  covered  as  she  was  with 
powdery,  irritating  dust,  she  was  quite  cheerful  as  he 
helped  her  from  the  ambulance. 

She  stood  looking  round  the  post,  across  the  white- 
hot  parade  ground,  to  the  adobe  barracks  and  the 
sutler's  store.  Then  she  turned  and  considered  the 
officers'  quarters.  They  were  a  row  of  hospital,  wall, 
and  A  tents,  floored  with  rough  boards  and  sheltered 
by  ramadas  of  willow  branches. 

In  the  middle  of  the  line  there  was  a  one-room  mud 
hut.  This,  with  the  tents  back  of  it,  was  her  home. 
Landor  had  fitted  up  the  hut  with  Navajo  blankets, 
Indian  baskets,  dolls,  saddle  bags,  war  bonnets,  and 
quivers  ;  with  stuffed  birds  and  framed  chromos,  camp- 
chairs  and  some  rough  quartermaster's  furniture.  A 
gray  blanket,  with  a  yellow  Q.  M.  D.  in  the  centre, 
kept  the  glare  out  at  the  window,  and  the  room  was  cool 
enough.  One  advantage  of  adobe  —  and  it  has  others 
—  is  that  it  retains  all  summer  the  winter  cold,  and  all 
winter  the  summer  heat. 


62  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

Felipa  expressed  decided  approval,  and  set  to  work 
making  herself  comfortable  at  once.  Within  ten  min- 
utes she  had  changed  her  travelling  things  for  a  white 
wrapper,  had  brushed  the  dust  from  her  hair,  and  left 
it  hanging  straight  and  coarse  and  dead  black,  below 
her  waist,  —  she  was  given  to  loosing  it  whenever  the 
smallest  excuse  offered,  —  and  had  settled  herself  to 
rest  in  a  canvas  lounging  chair. 

Landor  had  come  to  agree  with  the  major  at  Grant, 
that  she  was  an  excellent  wife  for  a  soldier.  Her 
tastes  were  simple  as  those  of  a  hermit.  She  asked 
only  a  tent  and  a  bunk  and  enough  to  eat,  and  she 
could  do  without  even  those  if  occasion  arose.  She 
saw  the  best  of  everything,  not  with  the  exasperating 
optimism  which  insists  upon  smiling  idiotically  on  the 
pleasant  and  the  distinctly  disagreeable  alike,  and  upon 
being  aggressively  delighted  over  the  most  annoying 
mishaps,  but  with  a  quiet,  common-sense  intention  of 
making  the  objectionable  no  more  so  for  her  own  part. 
There  were  wives  who  made  their  husbands'  quarters 
more  dainty  and  attractive,  if  not  more  neat ;  but  in 
the  struggle  —  for  it  was  necessarily  a  struggle  —  lost 
much  peace  of  mind  and  real  comfort.  Upon  the 
whole,  Landor  was  very  well  satisfied,  and  Felipa  was 
entirely  so.  She  was  utterly  indifferent  to  being  set 
down  at  a  three-company  post,  where  her  only  com- 
panion was  to  be  a  woman  she  disliked  from  the  first, 
openly  and  without  policy,  as  was  her  way. 

The  woman  called  early  in  the  blazing  afternoon, 
appearing  clad  in  silks,  waving  a  gorgeous  fan  of 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  63 

plumes,  and  sinking  languidly  into  a  chair.  Felipa 
sat  bolt  upright  on  a  camp-stool,  and  before  the  close 
of  an  hour  they  were  at  daggers'  points.  The  com- 
mandant's wife  used  cheap  French  phrases  in  every 
other  breath,  and  Felipa  retaliated  in  the  end  by  a 
long,  glib  sentence,  which  was  not  understood.  She 
seemed  absolutely  dense  and  unsmiling  about  it,  but 
Landor  was  used  to  the  mask  of  stolidity.  He  got  up 
and  went  to  the  window  to  arrange  the  gray  blanket, 
and  hide  a  smile  that  came,  even  though  he  was  per- 
fectly aware  of  the  unwisdom  of  making  an  enemy  of 
the  C.  O.'s  wife. 

From  thenceforth  the  elegant  creature  troubled  Felipa 
as  little  as  the  nature  of  things  would  permit.  She 
said  that  Mrs.  Landor  was  une  sauvage  and  so  brune ; 
and  Mrs.  Landor  said  she  was  a  fool  and  dyed  her 
hair.  She  was  not  given  to  mincing  words.  And  she 
had  small  patience  with  a  woman  who  lay  in  bed  until 
the  sun  was  high,  and  who  spent  her  days  lounging 
under  the  ramada,  displaying  tiny,  satin-shod  feet  for 
the  benefit  of  the  enlisted  men  and  the  Indians  who 
wandered  over  from  the  reservation. 

She  herself  was  up  before  dawn,  riding  over  the  hills 
with  her  husband,  watching  the  sun  rise  above  the  blue 
mountains  on  the  far-away  horizon,  and  strike  with 
lights  of  gold  and  rose  the  sands  and  the  clumps  of 
sage,  visiting  the  herd  where  it  struggled  to  graze, 
under  well-armed  guard,  and  gathering  the  pitiful  wild 
flowers  from  the  baked,  lifeless  soil.  She  shot  quail 
and  owls,  and  dressed  their  skins.  She  could  endure 


64  THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

any  amount  of  fatigue,  and  she  could  endure  quite  as 
well  long  stretches  of  idleness. 

Having  no  children  of  her  own,  she  took  for  prote'ge' 
a  small  White  Mountain,  son  of  a  buck  who  hung  about 
the  post  most  of  the  time,  bought  him  candy  and  pea- 
nuts at  the  sutler's  store,  taught  him  English,  and 
gathered  snatches  of  his  tribe's  tongue  in  return. 

Landor  humored  her,  but  did  not  quite  approve.  "  If 
you  begin  that,  every  papoose  at  the  Agency  will  be 
brought  down  to  us,"  he  suggested  ;  and  once  when  he 
had  grown  a  little  tired  of  having  the  noiseless,  naked 
little  savage  forever  round,  he  offered  him  a  piece  of 
canned  lobster.  Whereupon  the  boy  fled  wildly,  and 
would  not  be  coaxed  back  for  many  days.  Felipa 
seemed  really  to  miss  him,  so  Landor  never  teased  him 
after  that,  making  only  the  reasonable  request  that  the 
youngster  be  not  allowed  to  scratch  his  head  near  him. 

Another  of  her  pets  was  a  little  fawn  a  soldier  had 
caught  and  given  to  her.  It  followed  her  tamely  about 
the  post. 

One  morning,  shortly  before  dinner  call,  she  sat 
under  the  ramada,  the  deer  at  her  feet,  asleep,  the 
little  Apache  squatted  beside  her,  amusing  himself 
with  a  collection  of  gorgeous  pictorial  labels,  soaked 
from  commissary  fruit  and  vegetable  cans.  The  camp 
was  absolutely  silent,  even  the  drowsy  scraping  of 
the  brooms  of  the  police  party  having  stopped  some 
time  before.  Landor  was  asleep  in  his  tent,  and  pres- 
ently she  herself  began  to  doze.  She  was  awakened 
by  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  gravel  in  front  of  the 


THE  HEBITAGB  OF  UNREST  65 

ramada,  and  in  another  moment  a  tall  figure  stood  in 
the  opening,  dark  against  the  glare.  Instantly  she 
knew  it  was  the  man  with  whom  she  had  come  face  to 
face  long  before  on  the  parade  ground  at  Grant,  though 
from  then  until  now  she  had  not  thought  of  him  once, 
nor  remembered  his  existence. 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  standing  slender  and  erect,  the 
roused  fawn  on  one  side  and  the  naked  savage  on  the 
other.  And  they  faced  each  other,  disconcerted,  caught 
mute  in  the  reverberation,  indefinite,  quivering,  of  a 
chord  which  had  been  struck  somewhere  in  the  depths 
of  that  Nature  to  which  we  are  willing  enough  to 
grant  the  power  of  causing  the  string  of  an  instrument 
to  pulse  to  the  singing  of  its  own  note,  but  whose  laws 
of  sympathetic  vibration  we  would  fain  deny  beyond 
material  things. 

The  man  understood,  and  was  dismayed.  It  is  appall- 
ing to  feel  one's  self  snatched  from  the  shifting  foothold 
of  individuality  and  whirled  on  in  the  current  of  the 
Force  of  Things.  Felipa  did  not  understand.  And 
she  was  annoyed.  She  crashed  in  with  the  discord  of 
a  deliberate  commonplace,  and  asked  what  she  could 
do  for  him,  speaking  as  to  an  inferior ;  and  he,  with  a 
stiff  resentment,  answered  that  he  wished  to  see  Captain 
Landor. 

She  did  not  return  to  the  ramada,  but  before  long 
her  husband  came  in  search  of  her. 

"  That  man  is  going  to  stay  to  luncheon,"  he  told  her. 

She  echoed  "  To  luncheon  !  "  in  amazement.  "  But, 
Jack,  he  was  a  soldier,  wasn't  he  ?  " 


66  THE  HERITAGE  OF  TJNKEST 

"  He  was,  but  he  isn't.  I  sent  for  him  about  some 
business,  and  he  is  a  very  decent  sort  of  a  fellow.  He 
has  a  little  ranch  on  the  reservation." 

"  A  squaw-man  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  dare  say,"  he  answered  carelessly.  "  Come  and 
meet  him.  You'll  like  him." 

She  went,  with  none  too  good  a  grace. 

Cairness  said  to  himself  that  she  was  regal,  and 
acknowledged  her  most  formal  welcome  with  an  ease 
he  had  fancied  among  the  arts  he  had  long  since  lost. 

"  I  have  seen  you  before,  Mrs.  Landor,"  he  said  after 
a  while. 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  answered,  and  stroked  the  head  of  the 
fawn. 

"  Yes,"  he  persisted,  refusing  to  be  thwarted,  "  once 
when  you  were  crossing  the  parade  at  Grant,  at  retreat, 
and  two  days  afterward  when  you  shot  a  blue  jay  down 
by  the  creek." 

She  could  not  help  looking  at  him  now,  and  his  eyes 
held  hers  through  a  silence  that  seemed  to  them  so  endur- 
ing, so  unreasonable,  that  Landor  must  wonder  at  it. 
But  he  had  seen  men  put  at  a  disadvantage  by  her  beauty 
before,  and  he  had  grown  too  used  to  her  lack  of  conven- 
tionality to  think  much  about  it,  one  way  or  the  other. 

"  Can't  we  send  the  hostile  away  ? "  he  suggested, 
glancing  at  the  small  Apache,  who  was  digging  viciously 
at  his  head  and  watching  Cairness  with  beady  orbs. 
Felipa  spoke  to  him,  and  he  went. 

"  Do  you  like  his  kind  ? "  the  Englishman  asked 
curiously. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  67 

"  They  have  their  good  points,"  she  answered,  exactly 
as  he  himself  had  answered  Brewster's  baiting  long  ago. 
Then  she  fastened  her  gaze  on  the  roof  of  the  raraada. 

It  was  evident  that  she  had  no  intention  of  making 
herself  agreeable.  Landor  had  learned  the  inadvisa- 
bility  and  the  futility  of  trying  to  change  her  moods. 
She  was  as  unaffected  about  them  as  a  child.  So  he 
took  up  the  conversation  he  and  Cairness  had  left  off, 
concerning  the  Indian  situation,  always  a  reliable  topic. 
It  was  bad  that  year  and  had  been  growing  steadily 
worse,  since  the  trouble  at  the  time  of  his  marriage, 
when  Arizona  politicians  had,  for  reasons  related  to 
their  own  pockets,  brought  about  the  moving  of  the 
White  Mountain  band  to  the  San  Carlos  Agency. 
The  White  Mountains  had  been  peaceable  for  years, 
and,  if  not  friendly  to  the  government,  at  least  too 
wise  to  oppose  it.  They  had  cultivated  land  and  were 
living  on  it  inoffensively.  But  they  were  trading  across 
the  territorial  line  into  New  Mexico,  and  that  lost  money 
to  Arizona.  So  they  were  persuaded  by  such  gentle 
methods  as  the  burning  of  their  Agency  buildings  and 
the  destruction  of  their  property,  to  move  down  to  San 
Carlos.  The  climate  there  was  of  a  sort  fatal  to  the 
mountain  Apaches,  —  the  thing  had  been  tried  before 
with  all  the  result  that  could  be  desired,  in  the  way  of 
fevers,  ague,  and  blindness,  —  and  also  the  White  Moun- 
tains were  hereditary  enemies  of  the  San  Carlos  tribes. 
But  a  government  with  a  policy,  three  thousand  miles 
away,  did  not  know  these  things,  nor  yet  seek  to  know 
them.  Government  is  like  the  gods,  upon  occasions  :  it 


68  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

first  makes  mad,  then  destroys.  And  if  it  is  given  time 
enough,  it  can  be  very  thorough  in  both. 

In  the  period  of  madness,  more  or  less  enduring,  of 
the  victim  of  the  Great  Powers'  policy,  somebody  who 
is  innocent  usually  suffers.  Sometimes  the  Powers 
know  it,  oftener  they  do  not.  Either  way  it  does  not 
worry  them.  They  set  about  doing  their  best  to  destroy, 
and  that  is  their  whole  duty. 

Not  having  had  enough  of  driving  to  madness  in 
'75  and  '76,  they  tried  it  again  three  years  later.  They 
were  dealing  this  time  with  other  material,  not  the 
friendly  and  the  cowed,  but  with  savages  as  cruel  and 
fierce  and  unscrupulous  as  those  of  the  days  of  Cor- 
onado.  Victorio,  Juh,  and  Geronimo  were  already  a 
little  known,  but  now  they  were  to  have  their  names 
shrieked  to  the  unhearing  heavens  in  the  agony  of  the 
tortured  and  the  dying. 

The  Powers  said  that  a  party  of  Indians  had  killed 
two  American  citizens,  and  had  thereby  offended 
against  their  sacred  laws.  To  be  sure  the  Americans 
had  sold  the  Indians  poisonous  whiskey,  so  they  had 
broken  the  laws,  too.  But  there  is,  as  any  one  should 
be  able  to  see,  a  difference  between  a  law-breaking 
Chiricahua  and  a  law-breaking  territorial  politician. 
Cairness  refused  to  see  it.  He  said  things  that  would 
have  been  seditious,  if  he  had  been  of  any  importance 
in  the  scheme  of  things.  As  it  was,  the  Great  Powers 
did  not  heed  them,  preferring  to  take  advice  from  men 
who  did  not  know  an  Apache  from  a  Sioux  —  or  either 
from  the  creation  of  the  shilling  shocker. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  69 

"  I  am  not  wasting  any  sympathy  on  the  Apaches, 
nor  on  the  Indians  as  a  whole.  They  have  got  to 
perish.  It  is  in  the  law  of  advancement  that  they 
should.  But  where  is  the  use  in  making  the  process 
painful?  Leave  them  alone,  and  they'll  die  out.  It 
isn't  three  hundred  years  since  one  of  the  biggest  con- 
tinents of  the  globe  was  peopled  with  them,  and  now 
there  is  the  merest  handful  left,  less  as  a  result  of  war 
and  slaughter  than  of  natural  causes.  Nature  would 
see  to  it  that  they  died,  if  we  didn't." 

"  The  philanthropist  doesn't  look  at  it  that  way.  He 
thinks  that  we  should  strive  to  preserve  the  species." 

"I  don't,"  Cairness  differed;  "it's  unreasonable. 
There  is  too  much  sympathy  expended  on  races  that  are 
undergoing  the  process  of  extinction.  They  have  out- 
grown their  usefulness,  if  they  ever  had  any.  It  might 
do  to  keep  a  few  in  a  park  in  the  interests  of  science, 
and  of  that  class  of  people  which  enjoys  seeing  animals 
in  cages.  But  as  for  making  citizens  of  the  Indians, 
raising  them  to  our  level — it  can't  be  done.  Even 
when  they  mix  races,  the  red  strain  corrupts  the 
white." 

Landor  glanced  at  his  wife.  She  seemed  to  take  it 
without  offence,  and  was  listening  intently. 

"  It's  the  old  saying  about  a  dog  walking  on  its  hind 
legs,  when  you  come  to  civilizing  the  Indian.  You  are 
surprised  that  he  civilizes  at  all,  but  he  doesn't  do  it 
well,  for  all  that.  He  can  be  galvanized  into  a  tempo- 
rary semblance  of  national  life,  but  he  is  dead  at  the 
core,  and  be  will  decay  before  long." 


70  THE  HEEITAGE  OP   UNREST 

"  They  could  kill  a  good  many  of  us  before  they  died 
out,  if  we  would  sit  still  and  take  it,"  Landor  objected. 

"  It's  six  one,  and  half  a  dozen  the  other.  They'd 
be  willing  enough  to  die  out  in  peace,  if  we'd  let  them. 
Even  they  have  come  to  have  a  vague  sort  of  instinct 
that  that's  what  it  amounts  to." 

Landor  interrupted  by  taking  the  slipper  from 
Felipa's  foot  and  killing  with  it  a  centipede  that 
crawled  up  the  wall  of  the  abode.  "  That's  the 
second,"  he  said,  as  he  put  the  shoe  on  again.  "  I 
killed  one  yesterday  ;  the  third  will  come  to-morrow." 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  chair  and  to  the  discussion, 
and  before  long  he  was  called  to  the  adjutant's  office. 

Felipa  forgot  her  contempt  for  Cairness.  She  was 
interested  and  suddenly  aroused  herself  to  show  it. 
"  How  do  you  come  to  be  living  with  the  Indians  ? " 
she  asked.  It  was  rarely  her  way  to  arrive  at  a  question 
indirectly.  "  Have  you  married  a  squaw  ?  " 

He  flushed  angrily,  then  thought  better  of  it,  because 
after  all  the  question  was  not  impertinent.  So  he  only 
answered  with  short  severity  that  he  most  certainly  had 
not. 

Felipa  could  not  help  the  light  of  relief  that  came  on 
her  face,  but  realizing  it,  she  was  confused. 

He  helped  her  out.  "  I  have  drifted  in  a  way,"  he 
went  on  to  explain.  "  I  left  home  when  I  was  a  mere 
boy,  and  the  spirit  of  savagery  and  unrest  laid  hold  of 
me.  I  can't  break  away.  And  I'm  not  even  sure  that 
I  want  to.  You,  I  dare  say,  can't  understand."  Yet 
he  felt  so  sure,  for  some  reason,  that  she  could  that  he 


THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST  71 

merely  nodded  his  head  when  she  said  briefly,  "I  can." 
"  Then,  too,"  he  went  on,  "  there  is  something  in  the 
Indian  character  that  strikes  a  responsive  chord  in  me. 
I  come  of  lawless  stock  myself.  I  was  born  in  Sidney." 
Then  he  stopped  short.  What  business  was  it  of  hers 
where  he  had  been  born  ?  He  had  never  seen  fit  to 
speak  of  it  before.  Nevertheless  he  intended  that  she 
should  understand  now.  So  he  made  it  quite  plain. 
"  Sidney  was  a  convict  settlement,  you  know,"  he  said 
deliberately,  "and  marriages  were  promiscuous.  My 
grandfather  was  an  officer  who  was  best  away  from 
England.  My  grandmother  poisoned  her  first  husband. 
That  is  on  my  mother's  side.  On  my  father's  side  it 
was  about  as  mixed."  He  leaned  back,  crossing  his 
booted  legs  and  running  his  fingers  into  his  cartridge 
belt.  His  manner  asked  with  a  certain  defiance,  what 
she  was  going  to  do  about  it,  or  to  think. 

And  what  she  did  was  to  say,  with  a  deliberation 
equal  to  his  own,  that  her  mother  had  been  a  half- 
breed  Mescalero  and  her  father  a  private. 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  in  silence.  It  did  not 
seem  that  there  was  anything  to  say.  He  would  have 
liked  to  tell  her  how  beautiful  she  was.  But  he 
did  not  do  it.  Instead,  he  did  much  worse.  For  he 
took  a  beaded  and  fringed  leather  case  from  his  pocket 
and  held  out  to  her  the  drawing  he  had  made  of  her 
four  years  before.  She  gave  it  back  without  a  word, 
and  bent  to  play  with  the  buckskin  collar  on  the  neck 
of  the  fawn. 

Cairness  put  the  sketch  back  in  the  case  and  stood 


72  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

up.  "  Will  you  tell  Captain  Landor  that  I  found  that 
I  could  not  wait,  after  all  ?  "  he  said,  and  bowing  went 
out  from  the  ramada. 

She  sat  staring  at  the  white  glare  of  the  opening,  and 
listening  to  his  foot-falls  upon  the  sand. 


VI 

LANDOR  said  that  he  had  put  in  a  requisition  for  kip- 
pered mackerel  and  anchovy  paste,  and  that  the  commis- 
sary was  running  down  so  that  one  got  nothing  fit  to 
eat.  He  was  in  an  unpleasant  frame  of  mind,  and  his 
first  lieutenant,  who  messed  with  him,  pulled  apart  a 
broiled  quail  that  lay,  brown  and  juicy,  on  its  couch  of 
toast  and  cress,  and  asked  wherein  lay  the  use  of  taking 
thought  of  what  you  should  eat.  "  Every  prospect  is 
vile,  and  man  is  worse,  and  the  sooner  heaven  sends 
release  the  better.  What  is  there  in  a  life  like  this  ? 
Six  weeks  from  the  nearest  approach  to  civilization, 
malaria  in  the  air  by  night  and  fire  by  day.  Even 
Mrs.  Landor  is  showing  it." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  I  had  made  any  complaint,"  she 
said  equably. 

"  You  haven't,  but  the  summer  has  told  on  you  just 
the  same.  You  are  thin,  and  your  eyes  are  too  big. 
Look  at  that !  "  He  held  out  a  hand  that  shook  visibly. 
"That's  the  Gila  Valley  for  you." 

"  Sometimes  it's  the  Gila  Valley,  and  sometimes  it's 
rum,"  said  Landor.  "It's  rum  with  a  good  many." 

"  Why  shouldn't  it  be  ?  What  the  deuce  has  a  fellow 
got  to  do  but  drink  and  gamble?  You  have  to,  to  keep 
your  mind  off  it." 

73 


74  THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST 

The  lieutenant  himself  did  neither,  but  he  argued 
that  his  mind  was  never  off  it. 

Felipa  thought  it  was  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  and 
she  poured  herself  another  cup  of  the  Rio,  strong  as 
lye,  with  which  she  saturated  her  system,  to  keep  off 
the  fever. 

"  You  might  marry,"  Landor  suggested.  "  You  can 
always  do  that  when  all  else  fails." 

"  Who  is  there  to  marry  hereabouts  ?  And  always 
supposing  there  were  some  one,  I'd  be  sent  off  on  a 
scout  next  day,  and  have  to  ship  her  back  East  for  an 
indefinite  time.  It  would  be  just  my  blamed  luck." 

The  breakfast  humor  when  the  thermometer  has  been 
a  hundred  and  fifteen  in  the  shade  for  long  months,  is 
pessimistic.  "Don't  get  married  then,  please,"  said 
Felipa,  "  not  for  a  few  days  at  any  rate.  I  don't  want 
Captain  Landor  to  go  off  until  he  gets  over  these  chills 
and  things." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  it 
opened.  The  adjutant  came  in.  "  I  say,  Landor  —  " 

"  I  say,  old  man,  shut  that  door  I  Look  at  the  flies. 
Now  go  on,"  he  added,  as  the  door  banged  ;  and  he 
rose  to  draw  a  chair  to  the  table. 

"  Can't  stay,"  said  the  adjutant,  all  breathless.  "  The 
line's  down  between  here  and  the  Agency  ;  but  a  run- 
ner has  just  come  in,  and  there's  trouble.  The  bucks 
are  restless.  Want  to  join  Victorio  in  New  Mexico. 
You've  both  got  to  get  right  over  there." 

It  was  the  always  expected,  the  never  ceasing.  Lan- 
dor looked  at  his  wife  and  stroked  his  mustache  with 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNEEST  75 

a  shaking  hand.  His  face  was  yellow,  and  his  hair  had 
grown  noticeably  grayer. 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  go,"  Felipa  said  resignedly,  "  but 
that  doesn't  matter,  of  course." 

"  No,"  he  agreed,  "  it  doesn't  matter.  And  I  shall 
do  well  enough."  Then  the  three  went  out,  and  she 
finished  her  breakfast  alone. 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  troop  was  ready,  the  men 
flannel-shirted  and  gauntleted,  their  soft  felt  hats 
pulled  over  their  eyes,  standing  reins  in  hand,  foot  in 
stirrup,  beside  the  fine,  big  horses  that  Crook  had  sub- 
stituted for  the  broncos  of  the  plains  cavalry  of  former 
years.  Down  by  the  corrals  the  pack-mules  were 
ready,  too,  grunting  under  their  aparejos  and  packs.  A 
thick,  hot  wind,  fraught  with  sand,  was  beginning,  pre- 
saging one  of  the  fearful  dust  storms  of  the  southwest. 
The  air  dried  the  very  blood  in  the  veins.  The  flies, 
sticky  and  insistent,  clung  and  buzzed  about  the  horses' 
eyes  and  nostrils.  Bunches  of  tumbleweed  and  hay 
went  whirling  across  the  parade. 

Landor  came  trotting  over  from  his  quarters,  fol- 
lowed by  his  orderly,  and  the  troops  moved  off  across 
the  flat,  toward  the  river. 

Felipa  stood  leaning  listlessly  against  the  post  of  the 
ramada,  watching  them.  After  a  time  she  went  into 
the  adobe  and  came  out  with  a  pair  of  field-glasses,  fol- 
lowing the  course  of  the  command  as  it  wound  along 
among  the  foot-hills.  The  day  dragged  dully  along. 
She  was  uneasy  about  her  husband,  her  nerves  were 
shaken  with  the  coffee  and  quinine,  and  she  was  filled, 


76  THE  HEEITAGE  OF  UNREST 

moreover,  with  a  vague  restlessness.  She  would  have 
gent  for  her  horse  and  gone  out  even  in  the  clouds  of 
dust  and  the  wind  like  a  hot  oven,  but  Landor  had  for- 
bidden her  to  leave  the  post.  Death  in  the  tip  of  a 
poisoned  arrow,  at  the  point  of  a  yucca  lance,  or  from 
a  more  merciful  bullet  of  lead,  might  lurk  behind  any 
mesquite  bush  or  gray  rock. 

She  set  about  cleaning  the  little  revolver,  self-cock- 
ing, with  the  thumb-piece  of  the  hammer  filed  away, 
that  her  husband  had  given  her  before  they  were  mar- 
ried. To-night  she  wanted  no  dinner.  She  was  given 
to  eating  irregularly  ;  a  good  deal  at  a  time,  and  again 
nothing  for  a  long  stretch.  That,  too,  was  in  the 
blood.  So  she  sent  the  soldier  cook  away,  and  he 
went  over  to  the  deserted  barracks. 

Then  she  tried  to  read,  but  the  whisper  of  savagery 
was  in  the  loneliness  and  the  night.  She  sat  with  the 
book  open  in  her  lap,  staring  into  a  shadowy  corner 
where  there  leaned  an  Indian  lance,  surmounted  by  a 
war  bonnet.  Presently  she  stood  up,  and  stretched 
her  limbs  slowly,  as  a  beast  of  prey  does  when  it 
shakes  off  the  lethargy  of  the  day  and  wakens  for  the 
darkness.  Then  she  went  out  to  the  back  of  the  tents. 

The  stars  were  bright  chips  of  fire  in  a  sky  of  pol- 
ished blue.  The  wind  of  the  day  had  died  at  dusk, 
and  the  silence  was  deep,  but  up  among  the  bare  graves 
the  coyotes  were  barking  weirdly.  As  she  looked  off 
across  the  low  hills,  there  was  a  quick,  hissing  rattle  at 
her  feet.  She  moved  hastily,  but  without  a  start,  and 
glanced  down  at  a  rattler  not  three  feet  away. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  77 

Lander's  sabre  stood  just  within  the  sitting  room,  and 
she  went  for  it  and  held  the  glittering  blade  in  front  of 
the  snake.  Its  fangs  struck  out  viciously  again  and 
again,  and  a  long  fine  stream  of  venom  trickled  along 
the  steel.  Then  she  raised  the  sabre  and  brought  it 
down  in  one  unerring  sweep,  severing  the  head  from  the 
body.  In  the  morning  she  would  cut  off  the  rattle  and 
add  it  to  the  string  of  close  upon  fifty  that  hung  over 
her  mirror.  But  now  the  night  was  calling  to  her,  the 
wild  blood  was  pricking  in  her  veins.  Running  the 
sabre  into  the  ground,  she  cleaned  off  the  venom,  and 
went  back  to  the  adobe  to  put  it  in  its  scabbard. 

After  she  had  done  that  she  stood  hesitating  for  just 
a  moment  before  she  threw  off  all  restraint  with  a  toss 
of  her  head,  and  strapped  about  her  waist  a  leather  belt 
from  which  there  hung  a  bowie  knife  and  her  pistol  in 
its  holster.  Then  slipping  on  her  moccasins,  she  glided 
into  the  darkness.  She  took  the  way  in  the  rear  of  the 
quarters,  skirting  the  post  and  making  with  swift,  sound- 
less tread  for  the  river.  Her  eyes  gleamed  from  under 
her  straight,  black  brows  as  she  peered  about  her  in 
quick,  darting  glances. 

Not  a  week  before  —  and  then  the  Agency  had  been 
officially  at  peace  —  a  Mexican  packer  had  been  shot 
down  by  an  arrow  from  some  unseen  bow,  within  a 
thousand  yards  of  the  post,  in  broad  daylight.  The 
Indians,  caking  their  bodies  with  clay,  and  binding  sage 
or  grass  upon  their  heads,  could  writhe  unseen  almost 
within  arm's  reach.  But  Felipa  was  not  afraid.  Straight 
for  the  river  bottom  she  made,  passing  amid  the  dump- 


78  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

heaps,  where  a  fire  of  brush  was  still  smouldering,  fill- 
ing the  air  with  pungent  smoke,  where  old  cans  and 
bottles  shone  in  the  starlight,  and  two  polecats,  pretty 
white  and  black  little  creatures,  their  bushy  tails  erect, 
sniffed  with  their  sharp  noses  as  they  walked  stupidly 
along.  Their  bite  meant  hydrophobia,  but  though  one 
came  blindly  toward  her,  she  barely  moved  aside.  Her 
skirt  brushed  it,  and  it  made  a  low,  whining,  mean  sound. 

Down  by  the  river  a  coyote  scudded  across  her  path 
as  she  made  her  way  through  the  willows,  and  when  he 
was  well  beyond,  rose  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  looked 
after  her.  At  the  water's  edge  she  stopped  and  glanced 
across  to  the  opposite  bank.  The  restlessness  was  going, 
and  she  meant  to  return  now,  before  she  should  be 
missed  —  if  indeed  she  were  not  missed  already,  as  was 
very  probable.  Yet  still  she  waited,  her  hands  clasped 
in  front  of  her,  looking  down  at  the  stream.  Farther 
out,  in  the  middle,  a  ripple  flashed.  But  where  she 
stood  among  the  bushes,  it  was  very  dark.  The  water 
made  no  sound,  there  was  not  a  breath  of  air,  yet  sud- 
denly there  was  a  murmur,  a  rustle. 

Felipa's  revolver  was  in  her  hand,  and  cocked  and 
pointed  straight  between  two  eyes  that  shone  out  of 
the  blackness.  And  so,  for  an  appreciable  time,  she 
stood.  Then  a  long  arm  came  feeling  out ;  but  be- 
cause she  was  looking  along  the  sight  into  the  face 
at  the  very  end  of  the  muzzle,  she  failed  to  see  it. 
When  it  closed  fast  about  her  waist,  she  gave  a 
quick  gasp  and  fired.  But  the  bullet,  instead  of 
going  straight  through  the  forehead  beneath  the  head 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  79 

band,  as  she  had  meant  it  to  do,  ploughed  down.  The 
grasp  on  the  body  relaxed  for  an  instant ;  the  next  it 
had  tightened,  and  a  branch  had  struck  the  pistol  from 
her  hand. 

And  now  it  was  a  struggle  of  sheer  force  and  agility. 
She  managed  to  whip  out  the  knife  from  her  belt  and 
to  strike  time  and  time  again  through  sinewy  flesh,  to 
the  bone.  The  only  noise  was  the  dragging  of  their 
feet  on  the  sand,  the  cracking  of  the  willows  and  the 
swishing  of  the  blade.  It  was  savage  against  savage, 
two  vicious,  fearless  beasts. 

The  Apache  in  Felipa  was  full  awake  now,  awake  in 
the  bliss  of  killing,  the  frenzy  of  fight,  and  awake  too, 
in  the  instinct  which  told  her  how,  with  a  deep-drawn 
breath,  a  contraction,  a  sudden  drop  and  writhing,  she 
would  be  free  of  the  arms  of  steel.  And  she  was  free, 
but  not  to  turn  and  run — to  lunge  forward,  once  and 
again,  her  breath  hissing  between  her  clenched,  bared 
teeth. 

The  buck  fell  back  before  her  fury,  but  she  followed 
him  thrusting  and  slashing.  Yet  it  might  not,  even 
then,  have  ended  well  for  her,  had  there  not  come  from 
somewhere  overhead  the  sound  most  dreaded  as  an 
omen  of  harm  by  all  Apaches  —  the  hoot  of  an  owl. 
The  Indian  gave  a  low  cry  of  dismay  and  turned  and 
darted  in  among  the  bushes. 

She  stood  alone,  with  the  sticky,  wet  knife  in  her 
hand,  catching  her  breath,  coming  out  of  the  madness. 
Then  she  stooped,  and  pushing  the  branches  aside  felt 
about  for  her  pistol.  It  lay  at  the  root  of  a  tree,  and 


80  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

when  she  had  picked  it  up  and  put  it  back  in  the 
holster,  there  occurred  to  her  for  the  first  time  the 
thought  that  the  shot  in  the  dead  stillness  must  have 
roused  the  camp.  And  now  she  was  sincerely  fright- 
ened. If  she  were  found  here,  it  would  be  more  than 
disagreeable  for  Landor.  They  must  not  find  her. 
She  started  at  a  swift,  long-limbed  run,  making  a  wide 
detour,  to  avoid  the  sentries,  bending  low,  and  flying 
silently  among  the  bushes  and  across  the  shadowy 
sands. 

She  could  hear  voices  confusedly,  men  hurriedly  call- 
ing and  hallooing  as  she  neared  the  back  of  the  offi- 
cers' line  and  crept  into  her  tent.  The  door  was  barely 
closed  when  there  came  a  knock,  and  the  voice  of  the 
striker  asking  if  she  had  heard  the  shot  across  the 
river. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  heard  it.  But  I  was  not  fright- 
ened. What  was  it  ?  "  He  did  not  know,  he  said,  and 
she  sent  him  back  to  the  barracks. 

Then  she  lit  a  lamp  and  took  off  her  blood-stained 
gown.  There  was  blood,  too,  on  the  knife  and  its 
case.  She  cleaned  them  as  best  she  could  and  looked 
into  the  chamber  of  her  revolver  with  a  contemplative 
smile  on  the  lips  that  less  than  half  an  hour  before  had 
been  curled  back  from  her  sharp  teeth  like  those  of  a 
fighting  wolf.  She  wondered  how  badly  the  buck  had 
been  hurt. 

And  the  next  day  she  knew.  When  she  came  out 
in  front  of  her  quarters  in  the  morning,  rather  later 
than  usual,  there  was  a  new  tent  beside  the  hospital, 


THE   HERITAGE   OP   UNEEST  81 

and  when  she  asked  the  reason  for  it,  they  told  her 
that  a  wounded  Apache  had  been  found  down  by  the 
river  soon  after  the  shot  had  been  fired  the  night  before. 
He  was  badly  hurt,  with  a  ball  in  his  shoulder,  and  he 
was  half  drunk  with  tizwin,  as  well  as  being  cut  in  a 
dozen  places. 

She  listened  attentively  to  the  account  of  the  traces 
of  a  struggle  among  the  willows,  and  asked  who  had 
fired  the  shot.  It  was  not  known,  they  said,  and  the 
sullen  buck  would  probably  never  tell. 

When  she  saw  the  post  surgeon  come  out  from  his 
house  and  start  over  to  the  hospital,  she  called  to  him. 
"  May  I  see  your  new  patient  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  operate  at  once,  to 
remove  the  ball  and  the  shattered  bone,  but  that  she 
might  come  if  she  wished.  His  disapproval  was  marked, 
but  she  went  with  him,  nevertheless,  and  sat  watching 
while  he  picked  and  probed  at  the  wound. 

The  Apache  never  quivered  a  muscle  nor  uttered  a 
sound.  It  was  fine  stoicism,  and  appealed  to  Felipa 
until  she  really  felt  sorry  for  him. 

But  presently  she  stood  up  to  go  away,  and  her  eyes 
caught  the  lowering,  glazed  ones  of  the  Indian.  Half 
involuntarily  she  made  a  motion  of  striking  with  a 
knife.  Neither  the  doctor  nor  the  steward  caught 
it,  but  he  did,  and  showed  by  a  sudden  start  that  he 
understood. 

He  watched  her  as  she  went  out  of  the  tent,  and  the 
surgeon  and  steward  worked  with  the  shining  little 
instruments. 


VII 

LANDOE,  came  in  a  few  weeks  later.  He  had  had  an 
indecisive  skirmish  in  New  Mexico  with  certain  bucks 
who  had  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  paternal  gov- 
ernment by  killing  and  eating  their  horses,  to  the  glory 
of  their  gods  and  ancestors,  and  thereafter  working  off 
their  enthusiasm  by  a  few  excursions  beyond  the  con- 
fines of  the  reservation,  with  intent  to  murder  and 
destroy. 

Being  shaved  of  the  thick  iron-gray  beard,  and  once 
again  in  seemly  uniform,  and  having  reported  to  the 
commandant,  he  sat  down  to  talk  with  his  wife. 

She  herself  lay  at  full  length  upon  a  couch  she  had 
devised  out  of  packing  cases.  It  occurred  to  Landor 
that  she  often  dropped  down  to  rest  now,  and  that  she 
was  sallow  and  uneasy. 

He  looked  at  her  uncomfortably.  "  I  am  going  to 
get  you  out  of  this,  up  into  the  mountains  somewhere," 
he  said  abruptly  ;  "you  look  peaked." 

She  did  not  show  the  enthusiasm  he  had  rather 
expected.  "  I  dare  say  it  is  my  bad  conscience,"  she 
answered  with  some  indifference.  "  I  have  a  sin  to 
confess." 

He  naturally  did  not  foresee  anything  serious,  and  he 
only  said,  "  Well  ?  "  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe  from  a 

82 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  83 

buckskin  pouch,  cleverly  sketched  in  inks  with  Indian 
scenes.  "  By  the  way,"  he  interrupted  as  she  started 
to  speak,  "  what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  "  He  held  it 
out  to  her.  "  That  fellow  Cairness,  who  wouldn't  stay 
to  luncheon  that  day,  did  it  for  me.  We  camped  near 
his  place  a  couple  of  days.  And  he  sent  you  a  needle- 
case,  or  some  such  concern.  It's  in  my  kit."  She 
looked  at  the  pouch  carefully  before  she  gave  it  back ; 
then  she  clasped  her  hands  under  her  head  again  and 
gazed  up  at  the  manta  of  the  ceiling,  which  sagged  and 
was  stained  where  the  last  cloud-burst  had  leaked 
through  the  roof. 

"  Well  ?  "  repeated  Landor. 

"  I  disobeyed  orders,"  said  Felipa. 

"  Did  you,  though  ?  " 

"  And  I  went  outside  the  post  the  night  after  you 
left,  down  to  the  river.  Some  one  will  probably  tell 
you  about  a  wounded  Sierra  Blanca  found  down  among 
the  bushes  in  the  river  bottom  that  same  night.  I  shot 
him,  and  then  I  hacked  him  up  with  my  knife."  He 
had  taken  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  was  looking  at 
her  incredulously,  perplexed.  He  did  not  understand 
whether  it  was  a  joke  on  her  part,  or  exactly  what  it 
was. 

But  she  sat  up  suddenly,  with  one  of  her  quick 
movements  of  conscious  strength  and  perfect  control 
over  every  muscle,  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees, 
and  went  on.  "  It  was  very  curious,"  and  there  came 
on  her  face  the  watchful,  alert,  wild  look,  with  the  nar- 
rowing of  the  eyes.  "  It  was  very  curious,  I  could  not 


84  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

have  stayed  indoors  that  night  if  it  had  cost  me  my 
life  —  and  it  very  nearly  did,  too.  I  had  to  get  out. 
So  I  took  my  revolver  and  my  knife,  and  I  went  the 
back  way,  down  to  the  river.  While  I  was  standing 
on  the  bank  and  thinking  about  going  home,  an  Indian 
stole  out  on  me.  I  had  an  awful  struggle.  First  I 
shot.  I  aimed  at  his  forehead,  but  the  bullet  struck 
his  shoulder  ;  and  then  I  fought  with  the  knife.  As 
soon  as  I  could  slip  out  of  his  grasp,  I  went  at  him  and 
drove  him  off.  But  I  didn't  know  how  badly  he  was 
hurt  until  the  next  day.  The  shot  had  roused  them 
up  here,  and  they  went  down  to  the  river  and  found 
him  bleeding  on  the  sand. 

"  They  put  him  in  a  tent  beside  the  hospital,  and  the 
next  morning  I  went  over  with  the  doctor  to  see  him. 
He  was  all  cut  up  on  the  arms  and  neck  and  shoulders. 
I  must  have  been  very  strong."  She  stopped,  and  he 
still  sat  with  the  puzzled  look  on  his  face,  but  a  light 
of  understanding  beginning  to  show  through. 
"  Are  you  joking,"  he  asked,  "  or  what  ?  " 
"  Indeed,  I  am  not  joking,"  she  assured  him  earnestly. 
"  It  is  quite  true.  Ask  any  one.  Only  don't  let  them 
know  it  was  I  who  wounded  him.  They  have  never  so 
much  as  suspected  it.  Fortunately  I  thought  of  you 
and  ran  home  all  the  way,  and  was  in  my  tent  before  it 
occurred  to  any  one  to  come  for  me."  She  burst  into 
a  low  laugh  at  his  countenance  of  wrath  and  dismay. 
"  Oh  !  come,  Jack  dear,  it  is  not  so  perfectly,  unspeak- 
ably horrible  after  all.  I  was  disobedient.  But  then 
I  am  so  sorry  and  promise  never,  never  to  do  it  again." 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  85 

"You  might  have  killed  the  Indian,"  he  said,  in  a 
strained  voice.  It  did  not  occur  to  either  of  them,  just 
then,  that  it  was  not  the  danger  she  had  been  in  that 
appalled  him. 

She  was  astonished  in  her  turn.  "  Killed  him  !  Why, 
of  course  I  might  have  killed  him,"  she  said  blankly, 
frowning,  in  a  kind  of  hopeless  perplexity  over  his 
want  of  understanding.  "I  came  very  near  it,  I  tell 
you.  The  ball  made  shivers  of  his  shoulder.  But  he 
was  brave,"  she  grew  enthusiastic  now,  "he  let  the 
doctor  probe  and  pick,  and  never  moved  a  muscle.  Of 
course  he  was  half  drunk  with  tizwin,  even  then." 

"  You  didn't  stay  to  see  the  operation  ?  "  His  voice 
was  ominously  quiet. 

"  For  a  while,  yes.  And  before  I  came  away  I  made 
a  sign  to  show  him  it  was  I.  You  should  have  seen  his 
surprise." 

There  followed  a  fury-fraught  silence.  Landor's  face 
was  distorted  with  the  effort  he  was  making  to  contain 
himself,  and  Felipa  began  to  be  a  little  uneasy.  So 
she  did  the  most  unwise  thing  possible,  having  been 
deprived  by  nature  of  the  good  gift  of  tact.  She  got 
up  from  the  couch  and  drew  the  knife  from  its  case, 
and  took  it  to  him.  "  That,"  she  said,  showing  the 
red-brown  stains  on  the  handle,  "that  is  his  blood." 

He  snatched  it  from  her  then,  with  a  force  that  threw 
her  to  one  side,  and  sent  it  flying  across  the  room, 
smashing  a  water  jug  to  bits.  Then  he  pushed  her 
away  and  going  out,  banged  the  door  until  the  white- 
wash fell  down  from  the  cracks. 


86  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

Felipa  was  very  thoroughly  frightened  now.  She 
stood  in  wholesome  awe  of  her  husband,  and  it  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  made  him  really  angry, 
although  frequently  he  was  vaguely  irritated  by  her. 
She  had  had  no  idea  the  thing  would  infuriate  him  so, 
or  she  would  probably  have  kept  it  to  herself.  And 
she  wished  now  that  she  had,  as  she  went  back  to  the 
couch  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  it,  dejectedly. 

When  he  returned  at  the  end  of  a  couple  of  hours 
she  was  all  humility,  and  she  had  moreover  done  some- 
thing that  was  rare  for  her :  made  capital  of  her  beauty, 
putting  on  her  most  becoming  white  gown,  and  piling 
her  hair  loosely  on  the  top  of  her  head,  with  a  cap  of 
lace  and  a  ribbon  atop  of  it.  Landor  liked  the  little 
morning  caps,  probably  because  they  were  a  sort  of 
badge  of  civilization,  but  they  were  incongruous  for 
all  that,  and  took  from  the  character  of  her  head.  His 
anger  was  well  in  leash,  and  he  gave  her  the  mail 
which  had  just  come  in  by  the  stage,  quite  as  though 
nothing  had  occurred.  "And  now,"  he  commenced, 
when  he  had  glanced  over  the  Eastern  papers,  "I 
have  seen  the  C.  O. ;  he  wants  the  line  between  here  and 
Apache  fixed.  He  will  give  me  the  detail  if  you  care 
to  go."  He  plainly  meant  to  make  no  further  reference 
to  her  confession,  but  she  would  have  been  more  than 
woman  if  she  had  known  when  to  let  a  matter  drop. 

Her  face  lighted  with  the  relief  of  a  forgiven  child, 
and  she  went  to  him  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  You  are  so  good  to  me,"  she  said  penitently,  "  and 
I  was  so  disobedient." 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  TJNKEST  87 

He  bit  his  lip  and  did  not  reply,  either  to  the  words 
or  to  the  caress.  "You  need  a  month  of  the  moun- 
tains, I  think,"  he  said. 

The  telegraph  between  Thomas  and  Apache  always 
gave  something  to  think  about.  The  Indians  had 
learned  the  use  of  the  White-eye's  talking  wire  very 
promptly.  In  the  early  '70's,  when  it  first  came  to 
their  notice,  they  put  it  to  good  use.  As  when  an 
Apache  chief  sent  to  a  Yuma  chief  the  message  that 
if  the  Yumas  did  not  hold  to  a  certain  promise,  the 
Apaches  would  go  on  the  war-path  and  destroy  them, 
root  and  branch. 

The  Indians  and  the  cow-boys  used  the  insulators  to 
try  their  marksmanship  upon,  and  occasionally  —  in 
much  the  same  spirit  that  the  college  man  takes  gates 
from  their  hinges  and  pulls  down  street  signs — the 
young  bucks  cut  the  wires  and  tied  the  ends  with 
rubber  bands.  Also  trees  blown  down  by  storms  fell 
crashing  across  the  line,  and  some  scheme  for  making 
it  a  little  less  tempting  and  a  little  more  secure  was 
much  needed.  Landor  had  long  nursed  such  an  one. 
So  a  week  later  he  and  Felipa,  with  a  detail  of  twenty 
men  and  a  six-mule  wagon,  started  across  the  Gila 
Valley  to  the  White  Mountains. 

By  day  Felipa  was  left  in  camp  with  the  cook,  while 
Landor  and  the  men  worked  on  ahead,  returning  at 
sundown.  At  times  she  went  with  them,  but  as  a 
rule  she  wandered  among  the  trees  and  rocks,  shooting 
with  pistol  and  bow,  but  always  keeping  close  to  the 
tents.  She  had  no  intention  of  disobeying  her  hus- 


88  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNKEST 

band  again.  Sometimes,  too,  she  read,  and  sometimes 
cooked  biscuits  and  game  over  the  campfire  in  the 
Dutch  oven.  Her  strength  began  to  return  almost 
from  the  first,  and  she  had  gone  back,  for  comfort's 
sake,  to  the  short  skirts  of  her  girlhood. 

The  Indians  who  came  round  talked  with  her  ami- 
cably enough,  mainly  by  signs.  She  played  with  the 
children  too,  and  one  day  there  appeared  among  them 
her  protege  of  the  post,  who  thereafter  became  a  camp 
follower. 

And  on  another  morning  there  lounged  into  the 
space  in  front  of  the  tents,  with  the  indolent  swing  of 
a  mountain  lion,  a  big  Sierra  Blanca  buck.  He  was 
wrapped  from  neck  to  moccasins  in  a  red  blanket,  and 
carried  an  elaborate  calf's-hide  quiver.  He  stopped  in 
front  of  Felipa,  who  was  sitting  on  the  ground  with  her 
back  against  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  reading,  and 
held  out  the  quiver  to  her. 

"  How,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  How,"  answered  Felipa,  as  unconcernedly  as  though 
she  had  not  recognized  him  almost  at  once  for  the  buck 
she  had  last  seen  in  the  A  tent  beside  the  hospital,  with 
the  doctor  picking  pieces  of  bone  and  flesh  from  his 
shoulder.  Then  she  took  the  quiver  and  examined  it. 
There  was  a  bow  as  tall  as  herself,  and  pliable  as  fine 
steel,  not  a  thing  for  children  to  play  with,  but  a  war- 
rior's arm.  Also  there  were  a  number  of  thin,  smooth, 
gayly  feathered  arrows.  " Malas"  he  told  her,  touch- 
ing the  heads.  "  Venadas,"  and  she  knew  that  he 
meant  that  they  were  poisoned  by  the  process  of  dip- 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  89 

ping  them  in  putrid  liver,  into  which  a  rattler  had 
been  made  to  inject  its  venom.  Even  then  the  sort 
was  becoming  rare,  though  the  arrow  was  still  in  use 
as  a  weapon  and  not  merely  as  an  attraction  for  tourists. 

The  buck  sat  down  upon  the  ground  in  front  of 
Felipa  and  considered  her.  By  the  etiquette  of  the 
tribe  she  could  not  ask  him  his  name,  but  the  boy,  her 
protege,  told  her  that  it  was  Alchesay.  All  the  after- 
noon he  hung  around  the  camp,  taciturn,  apparently 
aimless,  while  she  went  about  her  usual  amusements 
and  slept  in  the  tent.  Once  in  a  way  he  spoke  to  her 
in  Spanish.  And  for  days  thereafter,  as  they  moved 
up  along  the  rough  and  dangerous  road,  —  where  the 
wagon  upset  with  monotonous  regularity,  big  and 
heavy  though  it  was, — he  appeared  from  time  to  time. 

For  some  days  Felipa  had  noticed  a  change,  inde- 
finable and  slight,  yet  still  to  be  felt,  in  the  manner  of 
the  Indians  all  about.  Not  that  they  were  ever  espe- 
cially gracious,  but  now  the  mothers  discouraged  the 
children  from  playing  hide-and-seek  with  her,  and 
although  there  were  quite  as  many  squaws,  fewer 
bucks  came  around  than  before.  But  Alchesay  could 
always  be  relied  upon  to  stalk  in,  at  regular  intervals, 
and  seat  himself  near  the  fire,  or  the  hot  ashes  thereof. 

They  had  been  four  days  camping  on  Black  River,  a 
mountain  stream  rushing  between  the  steep  hills,  with 
the  roar  of  a  Niagara,  hunting  deer  and  small  game, 
fishing  with  indifferent  success,  —  to  the  disgust  of  the 
Apaches,  who  would  much  rather  have  eaten  worms 
than  fish,  —  and  entertaining  visitors.  There  were  any 


90  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

number  of  these.  One  party  had  come  out  from  Fort 
Apache,  another  from  a  camp  of  troops  on  the  New 
Mexico  road,  and  some  civilians  from  Boston,  who  were 
in  search  of  a  favorable  route  for  a  projected  railway. 

In  the  opinion  of  Landor,  who  knew  the  impracticable 
country  foot  for  foot,  they  were  well-intentioned  luna- 
tics. But  they  were  agreeable  guests,  who  exchanged 
the  topics  of  the  happy  East  for  the  wild  turkey  and 
commissary  supplies  of  the  Far  West,  and  in  departing 
took  with  them  a  picturesque,  if  inexact,  notion  of  army 
life  on  the  frontier,  and  left  behind  a  large  number  of 
books  for  Felipa,  who  had  dazzled  their  imaginations. 

She  had  read  one  of  the  books  one  afternoon  when 
she  was  left  alone,  until  the  sun  began  to  sink  behind 
the  mountain  tops,  and  the  cook  to  drag  branches  to  the 
fire  preparatory  to  getting  supper.  Then  she  marked 
her  place  with  a  twig,  and  rose  up  from  the  ground  to 
go  to  the  tent  and  dress,  against  Lander's  return.  The 
squaws  and  bucks  who  had  been  all  day  wandering 
around  the  outskirts  of  the  camp,  speaking  together 
in  low  voices,  and  watching  the  cook  furtively,  crowded 
about  the  opening. 

She  warned  them  off  with  a  careless  "uki&Tiee"  But 
they  did  not  go.  Some  ten  pairs  of  eyes,  full  of  unmis- 
takable menace,  followed  her  every  movement.  She  let 
down  the  tent  flaps  and  tied  them  together,  taking  her 
time  about  it.  She  was  angry,  and  growing  angrier. 
It  was  unendurable  to  her  to  be  disobeyed,  to  have  her 
authority  put  at  naught  on  the  few  occasions  when  she 
chose  to  exercise  it.  She  could  keep  her  temper  over 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  91 

anything  but  that.  And  her  temper  was  of  the  silent 
sort,  rolling  on  and  on,  like  a  great  cold  swell  at  sea,  to 
break  finally  against  the  first  obstacle  with  an  uncon- 
trollable force.  She  had  never  been  really  angry  but 
twice  in  her  life.  Once  when  she  was  in  school,  and 
when  a  teacher  she  liked,  judging  her  by  her  frequent 
and  unblushing  lies  to  a  teacher  she  disliked,  doubted 
her  word  upon  an  occasion  when  she  was  really  speaking 
the  truth.  It  was  after  that  that  she  had  written  to  her 
guardian  that  she  would  run  away.  The  second  time 
had  been  when  Brewster  had  tried  to  bully  her.  She 
knew  that  it  would  soon  be  a  third  time,  if  the  Indians 
went  on  annoying  her.  And  she  was  far  more  afraid 
of  what  she  might  do  than  of  what  they  might  do.  But 
she  took  off  the  waist  of  her  gown  and  began  to  brush 
her  hair,  not  being  in  the  least  squeamish  about  letting 
the  Apaches  see  her  fine  white  arms  and  neck,  if  they 
were  to  open  the  flaps  again. 

Which  was  what  they  presently  did.  She  expected 
it.  A  long,  wrinkled  hand  reached  in,  feeling  about 
for  the  knots  of  the  tape.  She  stood  still  with  the 
brush  in  her  hands,  watching.  Another  hand  came, 
and  another.  She  caught  up  her  quirt  from  the  cot, 
then  realizing  that  the  sting  of  the  lash  would  only 
prove  an  exasperation  and  weaken  her  authority,  if  she 
had  any  whatever,  —  and  she  believed  that  she  had,  — 
she  threw  it  down.  The  cook  was  probably  in  the 
kitchen  tent  and  did  not  know  what  was  going  on. 
And  she  would  have  died  before  she  would  have  called 
for  help; 


92  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

The  lean  hands  found  the  knots,  untied  them,  and 
threw  back  the  flaps  defiantly.  The  ten  pairs  of  eyes 
were  fastened  on  her  again.  She  returned  the  gaze 
steadily,  backing  to  a  little  camp  table  and  slipping  her 
hand  under  a  newspaper  that  lay  upon  it.  "  Ukishee, 
pronto"  she  commanded,  in  the  accepted  argot.  They 
stood  quite  still  and  unyielding  ;  and  she  knew  that  if 
she  were  to  be  obeyed  at  all,  it  must  be  now.  Or  if  she 
were  to  die,  it  must  be  now  also.  But  the  hand  that 
drew  from  beneath  the  newspaper  the  little  black-butted 
Smith  and  Wesson,  which  was  never  out  of  her  reach, 
did  not  so  much  as  tremble  as  she  aimed  it  straight 
between  the  eyes  of  the  foremost  buck.  "  Ukishee" 
she  said  once  again,  not  loudly,  but  without  the  shadow 
of  hesitation  or  wavering.  There  answered  a  low  mut- 
tering, evil  and  rising,  and  the  buck  started  forward. 
Her  finger  pressed  against  the  trigger,  but  before  the 
hammer  had  snapped  down,  she  threw  up  the  barrel 
and  fired  into  the  air,  for  a  big,  sinewy  arm,  seamed 
with  new  scars,  had  reached  out  suddenly  and  struck 
the  buck  aside.  It  was  all  done  in  an  instant,  so 
quickly  that  Felipa  hardly  knew  she  had  changed  her 
aim,  and  that  it  was  Alchesay  who  had  come  forward 
only  just  in  time. 

The  cook  came  running,  six-shooter  in  hand,  but 
Alchesay  was  driving  them  away  and  lowering  the  can- 
vas flaps.  Felipa  told  the  cook  that  it  was  all  right, 
and  went  on  with  her  dressing.  Although  she  had  no 
gifts  for  guessing  the  moods  and  humors  of  her  father's 
race,  she  understood  her  mother's  considerably  better, 


THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  93 

and  so  she  did  not  even  call  a  "gracias"  after  Alchesay. 
She  merely  nodded  amicably  when  she  went  out  and 
found  him  sitting  on  the  ground  waiting  for  her.  He 
returned  the  nod,  a  degree  less  graciously,  if  possible, 
and  began  to  talk  to  her  in  bad  Spanish,  evidently  put- 
ting small  faith  in  her  command  of  the  White  Mountain 
idiom,  marvellous,  to  be  sure,  in  a  White-eye  squaw, 
for  such  were  of  even  greater  uselessness  than  the  aver- 
age woman,  but  of  no  account  whatever  in  a  crisis.  And 
such  he  plainly  considered  this  to  be. 

"  Usted,  vaya  prontisimo"  he  directed  with  the 
assumption  of  right  of  one  to  whom  she  owed  her 
life. 

She  looked  down  at  him  in  a  somewhat  indignant 
surprise.  "  Pues  porque  ?  "  she  asked,  maintaining  the 
haughtiness  of  the  dominant  race,  and  refusing  to  ac- 
knowledge any  indebtedness.  "  Why  should  I  go 
away  ?  " 

"  Hombre  !  "  grunted  the  Indian,  puffing  at  a  straw- 
paper  cigarette,  "  excesivamente  peligroso  aqui." 

"  Why  is  it  dangerous  ?  "  she  wanted  to  know,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  was  plainly  not  to  be 
terrorized. 

"Matardnd  Usted:' 

"They  will  kill  me?  Who  will  kill  me,  and  what 
for?" 

He  gave  another  grunt.  "  Go  away  to-morrow.  Go 
to  the  Fort."  He  pointed  with  the  hand  that  held  the 
bit  of  cigarette  in  the  direction  of  Apache.  "  Tell  your 
man." 


94  THE  HERITAGE   OP   UNREST 

She  threw  him  an  indifferent  "  I  am  not  afraid,  not 
of  anything."  It  was  a  boast,  but  he  had  reason  to 
know  that  it  was  one  she  could  make  good. 

He  rolled  another  cigarette,  and  sat  smoking  it  un- 
moved. And  she  went  into  the  mess  tent. 

Nevertheless  she  decided  that  it  might  be  best  to  tell 
her  husband,  and  she  did  so  as  they  sat  together  by  the 
fire  after  the  moon  had  risen  into  the  small  stretch  of 
sky  above  the  mountain  peaks.  They  had  bought  a 
live  sheep  that  day  from  a  Mexican  herder  who  had 
passed  along  the  road,  and  they  were  now  cutting  ribs 
from  the  carcass  that  hung  from  the  branch  of  a  near-by 
tree,  and  broiling  them  on  the  coals.  Felipa  finished 
an  unimpassioned  account  of  the  afternoon's  happen- 
ings and  of  Alchesay's  advice,  and  Landor  did  not 
answer  at  once.  He  sat  thinking.  Of  a  sudden  there 
was  a  rustle  and  a  step  among  the  pines,  and  from  be- 
hind a  big  rock  a  figure  came  out  into  the  half  shadow. 
Felipa  was  on  her  feet  with  a  spring,  and  Landor  scram- 
bled up  almost  as  quickly. 

The  figure  moved  into  the  circle  of  red  firelight  and 
spoke,  "It  is  Cairness." 

Felipa  started  back  so  violently  that  she  struck 
against  the  log  she  had  been  sitting  upon,  and  lost  her 
balance. 

Cairness  jumped  forward,  and  his  arm  went  around 
her,  steadying  her.  For  a  short  moment  she  leaned 
against  his  shoulder.  Then  she  drew  away,  and  her 
voice  was  quite  steady  as  she  greeted  him.  He  could 
never  have  guessed  that  in  that  moment  she  had 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNKEST  95 

learned  the  meaning  of  her  life,  that  there  had  flashed 
burningly  through  her  brain  a  wild,  unreasoning  desire 
to  stand  forever  backed  against  that  rock  of  strength, 
to  defy  the  world  and  all  its  restrictions. 

There  was  a  bright  I.  D.  blanket  spread  on  the 
ground  a  little  way  back  from  the  fire,  and  she  threw 
herself  down  upon  it.  All  that  was  picturesque  in  his 
memories  of  history  flashed  back  to  Cairness,  as  he 
took  his  place  beside  Landor  on  the  log  and  looked  at 
her.  Boadicea  might  have  sat  so  in  the  depths  of  the 
Icenean  forests,  in  the  light  of  the  torches  of  the 
Druids.  So  the  Babylonian  queen  might  have  rested 
in  the  midst  of  her  victorious  armies,  or  she  of  Pal- 
myra, after  the  lion  hunt  in  the  deserts  of  Syria.  Her 
eyes,  red  lighted  beneath  the  shadowing  lashes,  met 
his.  Then  she  glanced  away  into  the  blackness  of  the 
pine  forest,  and  calling  her  dog  to  lie  down  beside  her, 
stroked  its  silky  red  head. 

"  I  knew,"  Cairness  said,  turning  to  Landor  after  a 
very  short  silence, "  that  you  and  Mrs.  Landor  were 
somewhere  along  here.  So  I  left  my  horse  at  a  ranche- 
ria  across  the  hill  there,"  he  nodded  over  his  shoulder 
in  the  direction  of  the  looming  pile  just  behind,  "  and 
walked  to  where  I  saw  the  fire.  I  saw  you  for  some 
time  before  I  was  near,  but  I  ought  to  have  called  out. 
I  really  didn't  think  about  startling  you." 

"  That's  all  right,"  Landor  said ;  "are  you  hunting  ?" 

He  hesitated.  "  I  have  done  some  shooting.  I  am 
always  shooting  more  or  less,  for  that  matter." 

Landor  went  to  the  tree  and  cut  another  rib  from 


96  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

the  mutton  and  threw  it  on  the  coals.  Then  he  walked 
across  the  clearing  to  the  tent. 

Cairness  and  Felipa  were  alone,  and  he  leaned  nearer 
to  her.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice, 
"  that  there  have  been  all  sorts  of  rumors  of  trouble 
among  the  Indians  for  some  time  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  I  have  kept  near  you  for  a  week,  to  warn  you,  or 
to  help  you  if  necessary." 

Her  lips  parted,  and  quivered,  and  closed  again. 
The  winds  from  the  wide  heavens  above  the  gap 
whined  through  the  pines,  the  river  roared  steadily 
down  below,  and  the  great,  irresistible  hand  of  Nature 
crushed  without  heeding  it  the  thin,  hollow  shell  of 
convention.  The  child  of  a  savage  and  a  black  sheep 
looked  straight  and  long  into  the  face  of  the  child  of 
rovers  and  criminals.  They  were  man  and  woman,  and 
in  the  freemasonry  of  outlawry  made  no  pretence. 

"  You  know  that  I  love  you  ?  "  he  said  unevenly. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  whispered,  but  she  took  her  shak- 
ing hand  from  the  dog's  head,  and,  without  another 
word,  pointed  to  the  shadow  of  Lander's  figure,  thrown 
distorted  by  the  candle  light  against  the  side  of  the  tent. 

And  he  understood  that  the  shadow  must  rise  always 
between  them.  He  had  never  expected  it  to  be  other- 
wise. It  was  bound  to  be  so,  and  he  bowed  his  head  in 
unquestioning  acceptance. 

The  shadow  was  swallowed  up  in  darkness.  The 
candle  had  been  blown  out,  and  Landor  came  back  to 
the  fire. 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  97 

"You  must  get  Mrs.  Landor  into  the  post  to-mor- 
row," Cairness  said  abruptly ;  "  Victorio's  band  is 
about." 

Landor  asked  him  to  spend  the  night  at  the  camp, 
and  he  did  so,  being  given  a  cot  in  the  mess  tent. 

About  an  hour  after  midnight  there  came  thunder- 
ing through  the  quiet  of  the  night  the  sound  of  gallop- 
ing hoofs  along  the  road  at  the  foot  of  the  ravine. 
Cairness,  lying  broad  awake,  was  the  first  to  hear  it. 
He  sprang  up  and  ran  to  the  opening  of  the  tent.  He 
guessed  that  it  was  a  courier  even  before  the  gallop 
changed  to  a  trot,  and  a  voice  called  from  the  invisi- 
ble depths  below,  "Captain  Landor?"  with  a  rising 
intonation  of  uncertainty. 

"  Yes,"  Cairness  called  back. 

"  Is  that  Captain  Landor's  camp  ?  " 

A  score  of  voices  answered  "Yes."  They  were  all 
aroused  now.  Landor  went  down  to  meet  the  man, 
who  had  dismounted  and  was  climbing  up  toward  him, 
leading  his  horse.  It  was  a  courier,  sent  out  from 
Apache,  as  Cairness  had  supposed. 

"  Sixty  of  Victorio's  hostiles  have  been  at  the 
Agency,  and  are  on  their  way  back  to  New  Mexico. 
Will  probably  cross  your  camp,"  the  captain  read 
aloud  to  the  men,  who  crowded  as  near  as  was  com- 
patible with  discipline. 

Then  he  went  off  to  inspect  the  stock  and  the  pick- 
ets, and  to  double  the  sentries.  "  You  had  better  sleep 
on  your  arms,"  he  told  the  soldiers,  and  returned  to 
his  cot  to  lie  down  upon  it,  dressed,  but  feigning  sleep, 


98  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

that  Felipa  might  not  be  uneasy.  He  need  not  have 
resorted  to  deception.  Felipa  had  not  so  much  as 
pretended  to  close  her  eyes  that  night. 

Before  dawn  Cairness  was  out,  hastening  the  cook 
with  the  breakfast,  helping  with  it  himself,  indeed,  and 
rather  enjoying  the  revival  of  the  days  when  he  had 
been  one  of  the  best  cooks  in  the  troop  and  forever 
pottering  about  the  mess  chests  and  the  Dutch  oven,  in 
the  field.  As  the  sun  rose,  —  though  daybreak  was 
fairly  late  there  in  the  canon,  —  the  cold,  crisp  air  was 
redolent  of  coffee  and  bacon  and  broiling  fresh  meat. 

Felipa,  lifting  her  long  riding  skirt,  stepped  out  from 
the  tent,  and  stood  with  hand  upraised  holding  back 
the  flap.  A  ray  of  sun,  piercing  white  through  the 
pines,  fell  full  on  her  face.  She  had  the  look  of  some 
mysterious  priestess  of  the  sun  god,  and  Cairness,  stand- 
ing by  the  crackling  fire,  prodding  it  with  a  long, 
charred  stick,  watched  her  without  a  word. 

Then  she  came  forward,  holding  out  her  hand  in  the 
most  matter-of-fact  way,  if,  indeed,  any  action  of  a  very 
beautiful  woman  can  be  matter  of  fact. 

"  I  shall  ride  into  Apache  with  you  in  Captain  Lan- 
dor's  stead,  if  he  will  allow  me,"  he  told  her,  and  added, 
"  and  if  you  will." 

She  bowed  gravely,  "You  are  very  kind." 

At  the  instant  a  cloud  floated  over  the  sun,  and  soon 
a  black  bank  began  to  fill  up  the  sky  above  the  canon. 
As  they  ate  their  breakfast  in  the  tent,  the  morning 
darkened  forebodingly.  Felipa  finished  the  big  quart 
cup  of  weak  coffee  hurriedly,  and  stood  up,  pushing 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  99 

back  her  camp-stool.  Her  horse  and  four  others  were 
waiting. 

Lander  had  agreed  to  trust  her  to  Cairness  and  an 
escort  of  three  soldiers.  He  could  ill  spare  time  from 
the  telegraph  line,  under  the  circumstances  ;  it  might  be 
too  imperatively  needed  at  any  moment.  He  mounted 
his  wife  quickly.  "You  are  not  afraid?"  he  asked. 
But  he  knew  so  well  that  she  was  not,  that  he  did  not 
wait  for  her  answer. 

Cairness  mounted,  and  looked  up  anxiously  at  the 
sky,  as  he  gathered  his  reins  between  his  fingers.  The 
wind  had  begun  to  howl  through  the  branches  of  the 
trees.  It  promised  to  be  a  wild  ride.  "  I  will  be  back 
to-night,  Landor,  to  report,"  he  said  ;  "  that  is,  if  the 
storm  doesn't  delay  us."  And  they  started  off  down 
the  hill. 

He  rode  beside  Mrs.  Landor  along  the  road  in  the 
ravine  bed,  and  the  soldiers  followed  some  twenty  yards 
in  the  rear.  They  were  making  as  much  haste  as  was 
wise  at  the  outset,  and  Felipa  bent  forward  against 
the  ever  rising  wind,  as  her  horse  loped  steadily  on. 

There  was  a  mutter  of  thunder  and  a  far-off  roar,  a 
flame  of  lightning  through  the  trees,  and  the  hills  and 
mountains  shook.  Just  where  they  rode  the  canon  nar- 
rowed to  hardly  more  than  a  deep  gulch,  and  the  river 
ran  close  beside  the  road. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this,"  Cairness  started  to  say, 
urging  his  little  bronco  ;  but  even  as  he  spoke  there 
was  a  murmur,  a  rustle,  a  hissing  roar,  and  the  rain  fell 
in  one  solid  sheet,  blinding  them,  beating  them  down. 


100 

"  Take  care  !  "  yelled  Cairness,  as  Felipa,  dazed  and 
without  breath,  headed  straight  for  the  stream.  He 
bent  and  snatched  at  her  bridle,  and,  swerving,  started 
up  the  sheer  side  of  the  hill.  She  clung  to  the  mane 
instinctively,  but  her  horse  stumbled,  struggled,  slipped, 
and  scrambled.  She  had  lost  all  control  of  it,  and  the 
earth  and  stones  gave  way  beneath  its  hoofs  just  as  a 
great  wall  of  water  bore  down  the  bed  of  the  river, 
sweeping  trees  and  rocks  away,  and  making  the  ground 
quiver. 

"  Let  go  your  stirrup  !  "  cried  Cairness,  in  her  ear  ; 
and  as  she  kicked  her  foot  loose,  he  leaned  far  from  the 
saddle  and  threw  his  arm  around  her,  swinging  her  up 
in  front  of  him  across  the  McLellan  pommel,  and  driv- 
ing the  spurs  into  his  horse's  belly.  It  had  the  advan- 
tage of  her  horse  in  that  it  was  an  Indian  animal,  sure 
of  foot  as  a  burro,  and  much  quicker.  With  one  dash 
it  was  up  the  hillside,  while  the  other  rolled  over  and 
over,  down  into  the  torrent  of  the  cloud  burst. 

Cairness  slid  to  the  ground,  still  holding  her  close, 
and  set  her  upon  her  feet  at  once.  He  had  not  so 
much  as  tightened  the  grasp  of  his  arm  about  her,  nor 
held  her  one-half  second  longer  than  there  was  absolute 
need. 

He  tried  to  see  if  the  soldiers  were  safe,  but  though 
they  were  not  a  hundred  feet  away,  the  trunks  and  the 
mist  of  water  hid  them.  The  rain  still  pounded  down, 
but  the  rush  of  the  wind  was  lessening  sensibly. 

Felipa  leaned  against  the  tree  under  which  they 
were,  fairly  protected  from  the  worst  of  the  storm ; 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  101 

and  Cairness  stood  beside  her,  holding  his  winded 
horse.  There  was  nothing  to  be  said  that  could  be 
said.  She  had  lost  for  once  her  baffling  control  of  the 
commonplace  in  speech,  and  so  they  stood  watching 
the  rain  beat  through  the  wilderness,  and  were  silent. 

When  the  storm  had  fairly  passed,  they  found  Felipa's 
gray  lodged  in  the  root  of  a  tree  some  distance  down 
the  creek  ;  in  no  way  hurt,  oddly  enough,  but  trem- 
bling and  badly  frightened.  The  saddle,  even,  was 
uninjured,  though  the  pigskin  was  water-soaked  and 
slippery. 

Cairness  sent  one  of  the  soldiers  back  to  report  their 
safety  to  Landor,  and  they  mounted  and  hurried  on 
again,  swimming  the  river  twice,  and  reaching  the  post 
some  time  after  noon. 

The  commandant's  wife  took  Mrs.  Landor  in,  and 
would  have  put  her  to  bed  with  hot  drinks  and  blankets, 
but  that  Felipa  would  have  nothing  more  than  some 
dry  clothes  and  a  wrapper  in  place  of  her  wet  habit. 
The  clothes  were  her  own,  brought  by  one  of  the  men, 
safe  in  a  rubber  poncho,  but  the  wrapper  belonged  to 
her  hostess,  who  was  portly,  whereas  Felipa  was  slender. 
But  to  Cairness,  who  had  stopped  for  luncheon,  she 
seemed,  in  the  voluminous  dull  red  draperies,  more 
splendid  than  ever  before. 

He  rode  away  at  once  after  they  had  lunched.  And 
Felipa  went  to  her  room,  and  dropped  down  shivering 
beside  the  little  red-hot  iron  stove,  moaning  between 
her  clenched  teeth. 


VIII 

Six  years  of  fighting,  of  bloodshed,  of  heavy  loss  in 
blood  and  treasure  to  the  government,  the  careers  of 
the  incarnate  devils  Juh,  Victorio,  and  Geronimo  —  all 
the  evils  let  loose  on  the  southwest  from  '78  to  '85  were 
traceable  primarily  to  the  selling  of  bad  whiskey  to 
a  hunting  party  of  Chiricahuas  by  two  storekeepers, 
greedy  of  gain. 

Of  course  there  were  complications  following,  a  long 
and  involved  list  of  them.  Of  course  the  Indians  only 
sought  the  excuse,  and  very  probably  would  have  made 
it  if  it  had  not  been  made  for  them.  And  of  course 
the  Interior  Department  bungled  under  the  guidance 
of  politicians,  of  whom  the  best  that  possibly  can  be 
said  is  that  they  were  stupid  tools  of  corrupt  men  in 
the  territories,  who  were  willing  to  turn  the  blood  of 
innocent  settlers  into  gold  for  their  own  pockets. 

And  still,  those  who  hated  the  Apache  most  —  officers 
who  had  fought  them  for  years,  who  were  laboring  under 
no  illusions  whatever  ;  the  Commanders  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Arizona  and  of  the  Division  of  the  Missouri  — 
reported  officially  that  Victorio  and  his  people  had 
been  unjustly  dealt  with.  And  these  were  men,  too, 
who  had  publicly  expressed,  time  and  again,  their 
opinion  that  the  Apaches  were  idle  and  worthless  vaga- 

102 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  103 

bonds,  utterly  hopeless,  squalid,  untrustworthy;  robbers 
and  thieves  by  nature.  They  had  none  of  Crook's 
so  many  times  unjustified  faith  in  the  red  savage, — 
that  faith  which,  wantonly  betrayed,  brought  him  to 
defeat  and  bitter  disappointment  at  the  last.  Since 
Crook  had  gone  to  the  northern  plains,  in  the  spring  of 
'75,  the  unrest  among  the  Apaches  had  been  steadily 
growing,  until  five  years  later  it  was  beyond  control, 
and  there  began  the  half  decade  which  opened  with  Vic- 
torio  on  the  war-path,  and  closed  with  the  closing  of 
the  career  of  the  unfortunate  general  —  most  luckless 
example  of  the  failing  of  failure  —  and  the  subjection 
of  Geronimo. 

The  never  ending  changes  of  the  service,  which  per- 
mitted no  man  to  remain  in  one  spot  for  more  than  two 
years  at  the  utmost  limit,  had  sent  Lander's  troop  back 
to  Grant,  and  it  was  from  there  that  he  was  ordered  out 
at  the  beginning  of  the  summer. 

The  curtain-raiser  to  the  tragedy  about  to  come  upon 
the  boards  was  a  little  comedy. 

One  fine  afternoon  the  post  was  moving  along  in  its 
usual  routine — that  quiet  which  is  only  disturbed  by 
the  ever  recurring  military  formalities  and  the  small 
squabbles  of  an  isolated  community.  There  had  been 
a  lull  in  the  war  rumors,  and  hope  for  the  best  had 
sprung  up  in  the  wearied  hearts  of  the  plains  service, 
much  as  the  sun  had  that  day  come  out  in  a  scintillat- 
ing air  after  an  all-night  rain-storm. 

Mrs.  Landor  sat  on  the  top  step  of  her  porch.  Lan- 
dor  was  with  her,  also  his  second  lieutenant  Ellton,  and 


104  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

Brewster,  who  in  the  course  of  events  had  come  into  the 
troop.  There  had  been,  largely  by  Felipa's  advice, 
an  unspoken  agreement  to  let  the  past  be.  A  troop 
divided  against  itself  cannot  stand  well  on  the  inspec- 
tor general's  reports.  And  as  Brewster  was  about  to 
marry  the  commanding  officer's  daughter,  it  was  well 
to  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  of  his  entire  sanity 
when  he  had  been  under  the  influence  of  what  had  been 
a  real,  if  short-lived,  passion  for  Felipa.  They  were  all 
discussing  the  feasibility  of  getting  up  an  impromptu 
picnic  to  the  foot-hills. 

"  Miss  McLane  will  go,  I  suppose?"  asked  Felipa. 

Brewster  answered  that  she  would,  of  course.  He 
was  rather  annoyingly  proprietary  and  sure  of  her. 

"  But  you  have  no  Jill,"  she  said,  smiling  at  Ellton. 
His  own  smile  was  very  strained,  but  she  did  not  see 
that,  nor  the  shade  of  trouble  in  his  nice  blue  eyes. 

There  fell  a  moment's  pause.  And  it  was  broken  by 
the  sound  of  clashing  as  of  many  cymbals,  the  clatter 
of  hoofs,  the  rattle  of  bouncing  wheels,  and  around  the 
corner  of  the  line  there  came  tearing  a  wagon  loaded 
with  milk  tins.  A  wild-eyed  man,  hatless,  with  his 
hair  on  end,  lashed  his  ponies  furiously  and  drew  up 
all  of  a  heap,  in  front  of  the  commanding  officer's 
quarters. 

Landor  and  his  lieutenant  jumped  up  and  ran  down 
the  walk.  "  What's  all  this,  Dutchy?"  they  asked. 

Dutchy  was  a  little  German,  who  kept  a  milk  ranch 
some  seven  miles  from  the  post.  "Apachees,  Apa- 
chees,"  he  squealed,  gasping  for  breath. 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNKEST  105 

"Where?"  the  commandant  asked. 

"  I  see  dem  pass  by  my  ranch.  Dey  weel  run  off  all 
my  stock,  seexty  of  dem,  a  hundred  mebee.  I  come 
queek  to  tell  you." 

"  You  came  quick  all  right  enough,"  said  Landor, 
looking  at  the  lathered  broncos.  But  Major  McLane 
was  inquiring,  and  the  result  of  his  inquiries  was 
that  two  troops  were  hurried  in  hot  pursuit. 

The  post  was  tremendously  excited.  As  the  cavalry 
trotted  off  up  the  slope  toward  the  foot-hills,  the  men 
left  behind  went  to  the  back  of  the  post  and  watched, 
women  looked  through-  field-glasses,  from  the  upper 
windows,  children  balanced  upon  the  fences  of  the 
back  yards,  and  Chinese  cooks  scrambled  to  the  top  of 
chicken  coops  and  woodsheds,  shading  their  eyes  with 
their  hands  and  peering  in  the  direction  of  the  gap. 
Dogs  barked  and  hens  cackled  and  women  called  back 
and  forth.  Down  at  the  sutler's  store  the  German  was 
being  comforted  with  beer  at  a  dollar  a  bottle. 

In  the  storm-cleared  atmosphere  the  troops  could  be 
seen  until  they  turned  into  the  gap,  and  shortly  there- 
after they  reappeared,  coming  back  at  a  trot. 

The  milk  ranch  and  the  stock  were  unhurt,  and 
there  were  not  even  any  Indian  signs.  It  was  simply 
another  example,  on  the  milkman's  part,  of  the  perfec- 
tion to  which  the  imagination  of  the  frontier  settler 
could  be  cultivated. 

"I  see  him,  I  see  him  all  the  same,"  he  protested, 
with  tears  and  evident  conviction. 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Landor,  tolerantly,  as  he  turned 


106  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

his  horse  over  to  his  orderly ;  "  but,  anyway,"  he  added 
to  Ellton,  "  we  had  a  picnic  —  of  a  sort." 

And  before  the  next  morning  the  picnic  that  kept 
the  southwest  interested  for  five  years  had  begun. 
Victorio  and  two  hundred  hostiles  had  left  the  Mesca- 
lero  Agency  for  good  and  all,  killing,  burning,  tortur- 
ing, and  destroying  as  they  went,  and  troops  from  all 
the  garrisons  were  sent  out  post  haste. 

At  noon  Landor  got  his  orders.  He  was  to  leave  at 
four  o'clock,  and  when  he  told  Felipa  she  planned  for 
dinner  at  three,  with  her  usual  manner  of  making  all 
things  as  pleasant  as  possible,  and  indulging  in  no  vain 
and  profitless  regrets.  "We  may  as  well  have  Mr. 
Brewster  and  Nellie  McLane,  too,"  she  decided,  and 
went  off  in  search  of  them,  bareheaded  and  dancing 
with  excitement.  She  dearly  loved  rumors  of  war. 
The  prospect  of  a  scout  was  always  inspiriting  to  her. 

Ellton  messed  with  them  regularly,  but  he  was  not 
to  go  out,  because  he  was  acting  adjutant.  To  his 
intense  disgust  and  considerable  mortification  —  for  he 
was  young  and  very  enthusiastic  and  burdened  with 
ideals  —  he  was  obliged  to  appear  spick  and  span  in 
irreproachable  undress,  beside  his  superiors  in  their 
campaign  clothes. 

"  They're  out  from  Apache,  two  troops  under  Kim- 
ball  and  Button  ;  Morris  has  a  band  of  scouts,  Bayard 
has  sent  two  troops,  Wingate  one.  Oh  !  it's  going  to 
be  grim-visaged  war  and  all  that,  this  time,  sure," 
Brewster  prophesied. 

Ellton  could  not  eat.  He  bewailed  his  hard  fate 
unceasingly. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  107 

"Shut  up,"  said  Brewster,  with  malicious  glee. 
"  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait,  you  know," 
he  chuckled.  "  You  can  serve  your  admiring  and  grate- 
ful country  quite  as  well  in  the  adjutant's  office  as 
summering  on  the  verdant  heights  of  the  Mogollons." 

Ellton  retaliated  with  more  spirit.  "  Or  guarding  a 
water  hole  on  the  border  for  two  or  three  months,  and 
that's  quite  as  likely  to  be  your  fate." 

"  True,  too,"  Brewster  admitted  perforce. 

"  I've  been  talking  to  a  fellow  down  at  the  Q.  M. 
corral,"  Landor  said,  "  Englishman  named  Cairness,  — 
Charley  Cairness.  He's  going  as  a  scout.  He  can't 
resist  war's  alarms.  He  used  to  be  in  my  troop  a  few 
years  ago,  and  he  was  a  first-rate  soldier  —  knew  his 
place  a  good  deal  better  than  if  he  had  been  born  to  it, 
which  he  very  obviously  wasn't." 

"  Squaw-man,  isn't  he  ?  "  Brewster  asked. 

Landor  shrugged  his  shoulder,  but  Felipa  would  not 
have  it  so.  "  You  know  he  is  not,  Jack,"  she  said  a 
little  petulantly,  which  was  noticeably  unwonted  on 
her  part. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  whatever  about  it,"  he 
answered ;  "  that  is  none  of  my  affair.  I  should  be 
surprised  if  he  were,  and  I  must  say  I  am  inclined  to 
think  he  is  not." 

"  I  know  he  is  not,"  she  said  decisively. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Brewster,  pointedly,  accentuat- 
ing the  slight  awkwardness. 

But  Landor  was  not  aware  that  there  was  any. 
"  Cairness  is  a  very  decent  sort  of  a  fellow,"  he  said 


108  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

good-humoredly.  "  And,  personally,  I  ani  indebted  to 
him  for  having  saved  Mrs.  Landor's  life  up  Black 
River  way." 

Ellton  filled  in  the  pause  that  threatened,  with  a 
return  to  the  dominant  topic.  "  This  not  having  any 
pack-train,"  he  opined,  "is  the  very  deuce  and  all. 
The  only  transportation  the  Q.  M.  can  give  you  is  a 
six-mule  team,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  happens  to  be  enough  for  the  next 
few  weeks.  We  are  going  to  camp  around  San  Tomaso 
to  afford  the  settlers  protection.  We  can't  follow  any 
trails,  those  are  our  orders,  so  the '  pack-train  doesn't 
matter  anyway.  By  that  time  they  will  have  scared 
up  one." 

As  they  came  out  from  dinner  the  orderlies  had  the 
horses  at  the  door.  Landor  gave  his  wife  parting 
instructions  the  while  Brewster  took  an  ostentatiously 
affectionate  farewell  of  Miss  McLane,  who  was  herself 
neither  so  affectionate  nor  so  sorrowful  as  she  might 
have  been  expected  to  be.  The  adjutant  watched 
them,  furtively  and  unhappily.  Felipa  herself  was 
not  as  unmoved  as  usual. 

When  Landor  had  trotted  off,  and  she  and  the  girl 
were  left  alone,  she  went  into  the  house  and  came  back 
with  a  pair  of  field-glasses.  Through  them  she  could 
see  her  husband  riding  at  the  head  of  the  column, 
along  the  road,  and  another  figure  beside  him,  mounted 
on  a  bony  little  pinto  bronco. 

So  he  was  near  her  again.  She  had  not  seen  him  in 
many  months,  but  she  had  felt  that  he  must  be  always, 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  109 

as  he  had  been  through  those  days  in  the  fastnesses  of 
the  Sierra  Blanca,  following  her  afar  off,  yet  near 
enough  to  warn  her,  if  need  arose.  She  was  too  super- 
stitious to  watch  him  out  of  sight,  and  she  turned  back 
into  the  house,  followed  by  Miss  McLane,  just  as 
stable  call  sounded,  and  the  white-clad  soldiers  tramped 
off  to  the  corrals. 


IX 

UNDER  the  midnight  sky,  misty  pale  and  dusted  with 
glittering  stars,  the  little  shelter  tents  of  Lander's 
command  shone  in  white  rows.  The  campfires  were 
dying ;  the  herd,  under  guard,  was  turned  out  half  a 
mile  or  more  away  on  a  low  mesa,  where  there  was 
scant  grazing  ;  and  the  men,  come  that  afternoon  into 
camp,  were  sleeping  heavily,  after  a  march  of  some 
forty  miles,  —  all  save  the  sentry,  who  marched  up 
and  down,  glancing  from  time  to  time  at  the  moving 
shadows  of  the  herd,  or  taking  a  sight  along  his  carbine 
at  some  lank  coyote  scudding  across  the  open. 

But  presently  he  saw,  coming  from  down  the  road, 
two  larger  bodies,  which  showed  themselves  soon,  in 
the  light  of  the  stars  against  the  sands,  to  be  a  pair 
of  horsemen  and  evidently  no  Apaches.  He  watched 
them.  They  rode  straight  up  to  the  camp  and  answered 
his  challenge.  They  wished,  they  said,  to  speak  to  the 
officer  in  command. 

The  sentry  was  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  an  un- 
seemly hour  to  arouse  a  man  who  had  marched  all 
day,  but  it  was  not  for  him  to  argue.  He  walked 
deliberately,  very  deliberately  indeed,  that  the  citizens 
might  be  impressed,  over  to  Landor's  tent  and  awoke 
him.  "  There's  two  citizens  here,  sir,  asking  to  see  you, 

110 


THE  HEEITAGE   OF   UNKEST  111 

sir."  His  tone  plainly  disclaimed  any  part  in  the 
affair. 

Landor  came  out,  putting  on  his  blouse,  and  went 
over  to  the  horsemen.  One  of  them  dismounted  and 
raised  his  hat. 

"  My  name,  sir,  is  Foster." 

Landor  expressed  pleasure,  without  loss  of  words. 

"I  represent,  sir,  the  citizens  of  San  Tomaso." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Landor.  He  knew  the  citizens  of  the 
district,  and  attached  no  particular  sacredness  to  the 
person  of  their  envoy. 

"  They  have  expressed  the  desire  that  I  should  con- 
vey to  you,  Colonel  —  " 

"I  am  Captain  —  Captain  Landor." 

"Captain  Landor,"  he  corrected  urbanely,  "pleased 
to  meet  you,  sir.  They  have  expressed  the  desire  that 
I  should  convey  to  you,  sir,  their  wish  to  accompany 
you  in  the  search  for  hostile  Apaches." 

That  was  evidently  how  it  was  to  go  into  the 
papers.  The  officer  knew  it  well  enough,  but  he  ex- 
plained with  due  solemnity  that  he  was  acting  under 
instructions,  and  was  not  to  follow  Indians  into  the 
hills.  "  I  am  only  to  camp  here  to  protect  the  citizens 
of  the  valley  against  possible  raids." 

The  civilian  protested.  "But  there  is  a  big  com- 
pany of  us,  sir,  thirty  or  thirty-five,  who  can  put  you 
on  the  trail  of  a  large  band." 

Landor  explained  again,  with  greater  detail,  vainly 
trying  to  impress  the  nature  of  a  military  order  on  the 
civilian  brain.  "  It  would  not  do  for  me  to  disobey  my 


112  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

instructions.  And  besides  there  are  several  officers  who 
are  to  follow  trails,  out  with  larger  commands.  I  have 
no  pack-train,  and  I  can't." 

It  did  not  seem  to  strike  the  representative  of  the 
citizens  of  San  Tomaso  that  that  was  much  of  an  argu- 
ment. He  continued  to  urge. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  officer,  "  I  understand  that  the 
hostiles  are  not  in  the  immediate  vicinity  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  in  the  immediate  vicinity,"  he  admitted. 
"No;  but  they  passed  along  the  foot-hills,  and  stole 
some  stock,  an'  killed  three  men  no  later  than  this 
evening." 

"  Say  we  were  to  get  off  at  sun-up,  then,"  objected 
Landor,  "they  would  even  in  that  way  have  twelve 
hours'  start  of  us." 

"Yes,  sir.  But  they  ain't  likely  to  travel  fast. 
They'll  think  themselves  safe  enough  up  there  in  the 
mountains.  We  could  easy  overtake  them,  being  as 
we  wouldn't  be  hampered  with  drove  stock.  They 
stole  about  fifty  head,  an'  we  could  most  likely  get  it 
back  if  we  started  at  once.  It  is  the  wish  of  the  citi- 
zens of  San  Tomaso,  ain't  it  ?  "  He  turned  to  the  man 
who  had  remained  mounted,  and  who  had  not  opened 
his  mouth.  The  man  nodded. 

"  I  couldn't  follow  more  than  two  days,"  Landor 
expostulated  hopelessly.  "  As  I  tell  you,  I've  no  pack- 
train.  The  men  would  have  to  carry  their  rations  in 
their  saddle  pockets." 

Foster  hastened  to  assure  him  that  two  days  would 
easily  do  it.  "  We  know  the  country  round  here,  Colo- 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  TTNBEST  113 

nel,  know  it  better  than  the  hostiles  themselves  ;  and 
a  big  party  of  us  volunteers  to  put  you  on  the  trail 
and  bring  you  to  them.  You  can't  hardly  refuse, 
seein'  as  you  say  you  are  here  to  protect  us,  and  this 
is  the  protection  we  ask,  to  get  back  the  stock  we've 
lost." 

Landor  stood  considering  and  pulling  at  his  mustache, 
as  his  way  was.  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went 
back  to  the  tent  for  Brewster.  He  explained  the  mat- 
ter to  him.  "  I  tell  Mr.  Foster,"  he  said,  "  just  what 
risk  I  would  take  if  I  acted  contrary  to  orders,  but  the 
force  of  my  argument  doesn't  seem  to  strike  him.  If 
any  harm  were  to  come  to  the  citizens  around  here,  I'd 
be  responsible." 

"  You  won't,  I  don't  guess,  if  it  was  the  citizens'  own 
wish,"  insisted  the  indomitable  one.  "You  wouldn't 
be  gone  more  than  two  days  at  the  outside.  And  a  big 
party  of  us  will  go  with  you." 

"  How  many  did  you  say  ?  "  he  wanted  to  know,  hav- 
ing the  laudable  intention  of  committing  the  man  before 
Brewster. 

And  Foster  answered  him  that  there  would  be  thirty 
or  forty. 

Was  he  quite  certain  that  the  trail  was  of  hostiles, 
and  not  of  cow-boys  or  of  other  troops  ? 

"  Certain,  dead  sure.  It's  a  band  of  Apaches  that 
went  across  the  river.  Why,  half  a  dozen  seen  them." 

Landor  consulted  with  his  lieutenant.  "  Very  well," 
he  said  in  the  end,  "  I'll  go.  I  take  serious  risks,  but  I 
understand  it  to  be  the  wish  of  the  citizens  hereabouts. " 


114  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

Their  envoy  assured  him  that  it  most  certainly  was,  and 
became  profuse  in  acknowledgments  ;  so  that  Landor 
shut  him  off.  He  had  come  many  miles  that  day  and 
must  be  on  the  march  again  at  dawn,  and  wanted  what 
sleep  he  could  get.  "  When  and  where  will  you  meet 
me?"  he  demanded  with  the  curtness  of  the  military, 
so  offensive  to  the  undisciplined. 

"  At  eight  o'clock,  sir,"  he  answered  resentfully,  "  in 
front  of  the  dry-goods  store  on  the  main  street.  If  that 
is  convenient  for  your  men." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Landor.  "  See  there  is  no 
delay,"  and  he  wheeled  about  and  went  back  to  his  tent 
with  Brewster. 

The  citizens  rode  off. 

"  They  won't  be  ready.  No  use  making  haste,  Cap- 
tain," Cairness  suggested  at  daybreak,  as  Landor  hur- 
ried the  breakfast  and  saddling.  They  knew  that  the 
chances  were  ten  to  one  that  it  would  be  a  wild  goose 
chase,  and  the  captain  already  repented  him.  But  at 
seven  the  men  were  mounted,  with  two  days'  rations 
in  their  saddle  bags,  and  trotting  across  the  flat  in  the 
fragrance  of  the  yet  unheated  day,  to  the  settlement  of 
San  Tomaso. 

Two  aimless  citizens  lounged  on  their  horses,  rapt  in 
argument  and  the  heavy  labor  of  chewing  —  so  much 
so  that  they  barely  took  notice  of  the  troops. 

Landor  rode  up  to  them  and  made  inquiries  for 
Foster. 

"Foster?"  one  drawled,  "he'll  be  along  presently, 
I  reckon." 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  115 

Landor  went  back  to  his  command  and  waited. 
Another  man  rode  up  and  joined  the  two.  Ten 
minutes  passed,  and  the  troops  grew  restless. 

Landor  went  forward  again.  "  Can  you,  gentlemen, 
tell  me,"  he  demanded  a  trifle  wrathf  ully,  "  where  I  can 
find  Mr.  Foster  ?  "  They  reckoned,  after  deliberation, 
that  he  might  be  in  Bob's  saloon.  Which  might  Bob's 
saloon  be?  The  man  pointed,  hooking  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder,  and  went  on  with  his  conversation 
and  his  quid.  A  dozen  or  more  loafers,  chiefly  Mexi- 
cans, had  congregated  in  front  of  the  dry-goods  store. 

Landor  rode  over  to  Bob's  place,  and  giving  his  horse 
to  the  trumpeter,  strode  in.  There  were  eight  men  around 
the  bar,  all  in  campaign  outfit,  and  all  in  various  stages 
of  intoxication.  Foster  was  effusive.  He  was  glad  to 
see  the  general.  General  Landor,  these  were  the  gen- 
tlemen who  had  volunteered  to  assist  Uncle  Sam.  He 
presented  them  singly,  and  invited  Landor  to  drink. 
The  refusal  was  both  curt  and  ungracious.  "If  we 
are  to  overtake  the  hostiles,  we  have  got  to  start  at 
once,"  he  suggested. 

But  it  was  full  two  hours,  in  the  end,  before  they  did 
start.  Flasks  had  to  be  replenished,  farewell  drinks 
taken,  wives  and  families  parted  from,  the  last  behests 
made,  of  those  going  upon  an  errand  of  death.  Citi- 
zens burning  with  ardor  to  protect  their  hearths  and 
stock  were  routed  out  of  saloons  and  dance  halls,  only 
to  slip  away  again  upon  one  pretext  or  another. 

The  sun  was  now  high  and  blazing  down  into  the 
one  street  of  the  mud  settlement.  The  enlisted  men 


116  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

were  angry  that  Landor,  fearing  they,  too,  would  be  led 
astray  into  dives,  would  not  dismount  them.  Sitting 
still  in  the  full  sun,  when  even  in  the  shade  the  mer- 
cury is  many  degrees  above  the  hundreds,  is  not  cal- 
culated to  improve  the  disposition.  But  at  length 
the  volunteers  were  herded  together.  The  thirty-five 
promised  had  dwindled  to  eight,  and  Foster  was  not  of 
the  number.  He  came  lurching  up  at  the  last  moment 
to  explain  that  he  would  be  unable  to  go.  His  wife 
was  in  hysterics,  he  said. 

So  the  troops  and  the  volunteers  rode  away  without 
him,  and  a  few  miles  off,  among  the  foot-hills,  struck  the 
trail.  Here  Landor,  giving  ear  to  the  advice  of  the 
citizens,  found  himself  whirled  around  in  a  very  torrent 
of  conflicting  opinions.  No  two  agreed.  The  liquor 
had  made  them  ugly.  He  dismounted  the  command 
for  rest,  and  waited,  filled  with  great  wrath. 

"  I  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  come  at  all," 
he  told  Brewster,  as  they  stood  beside  their  horses ;  "  it 
is  always  like  this." 

Brewster  nodded.  He  had  seen  the  same  thing  him- 
self. The  territorial  citizen  was  a  known  quantity  to 
both  of  them. 

Cairness  came  up.  "  Are  we  going  into  camp,  Cap- 
tain ?  "  he  wanted  to  know,  "  or  are  those  fellows  going 
to  follow  the  trail  ?  " 

Landor  took  his  arm  from  the  saddle  and  stood  up- 
right, determinedly.  "  We  are  going  to  stop  this  mob 
business,  that's  what  we  are  going  to  do,"  he  said,  and 
he  went  forward  and  joined  in  a  discussion  that  was 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  117 

upon  the  verge  of  six-shooters.  He  set  forth  in 
measured  tones,  and  words  that  reverberated  with  the 
restrained  indignation  behind  them,  that  he  had  come 
upon  the  assurance  that  he  was  to  strike  Indians,  that 
his  men  had  but  two  days'  rations  in  their  saddle  bags, 
and  that  he  was  acting  upon  his  own  responsibility, 
practically  in  disobedience  of  orders.  If  the  Indians 
were  to  be  hit,  it  must  be  done  in  a  hurry,  and  he  must 
get  back  to  the  settlements.  He  held  up  his  hands  to 
check  a  flood  of  protests  and  explanations.  "There 
has  got  to  be  a  head  to  this,"  his  drill-trained  voice 
rang  out,  "  and  I  propose  to  be  that  head.  My  orders 
have  got  to  be  obeyed." 

There  was  a  murmur.  They  had  elected  a  captain 
of  their  own ;  they  were  Indian  fighters  of  experience 
themselves. 

Landor  suggested  his  own  experience  of  close  on  two 
decades,  and  further  that  he  was  going  to  command  the 
whole  outfit,  or  going  to  go  back  and  drop  the  thing 
right  there.  They  assented  to  the  first  alternative, 
with  exceedingly  bad  grace,  and  with  worse  grace 
took  the  place  of  advance  guard  he  detailed  them  to, 
four  hundred  yards  ahead.  "  You  know  the  country. 
You  are  my  guides,  and  you  say  you  are  going  to  lead 
me  to  the  Indians.  Now  do  it."  There  was  nothing 
conciliating  in  his  speech,  whatever,  and  he  sat  on  his 
horse,  pointing  them  to  their  positions  with  arm  out- 
stretched, and  the  frown  of  an  offended  Jove.  When 
they  had  taken  it,  grumbling,  the  column  moved. 

"  It's  only  a  small  trail,  anyway,"  Cairness  informed 


118  THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

them  as  a  result  of  a  minute  examination  he  had  made, 
walking  round  and  leading  his  bronco,  bending  double 
over  the  signs,  "just  some  raiding  party  of  twelve  or 
fifteen  bucks.  Shot  out  from  the  main  body  and  ran 
into  the  settlements  to  steal  stock  probably." 

Landor  agreed  with  him,  "  I  told  the  citizens  so,  but 
they  knew  better." 

"  They  are  travelling  rapidly,  of  course.  We  shan't 
overtake  them." 

"I  dare  say  not,"  said  Landor,  his  face  growing 
black  again ;  "  they'll  cover  fifty  or  seventy -five  miles 
a  day.  We  can't  do  that,  by  a  good  deal.  We 
couldn't  even  if  those  damned  civilians  would  keep 
their  distance  ahead." 

But  this  the  civilians  were  very  plainly  not  minded  to 
do.  They  dropped  back,  now  to  cinch  up,  now  to  take 
a  drink  from  the  flasks,  now  to  argue,  once  for  one  of 
their  number  to  recover  from  an  attack  of  heart  disease. 

Landor  swore.  He  would  keep  them  their  proper 
distance  ahead,  if  he  had  to  halt  at  all  their  halts 
from  now  to  sunset. 

They  were  high  among  the  mountains,  and  here  and 
there  in  the  shadows  of  the  rocks  and  pines  were 
patches  of  snow,  left  even  yet  from  the  winter.  By 
all  the  signs  the  trail  was  already  more  than  half  a 
day  old. 

Landor's  fear  of  leaving  the  settlements  unguarded 
grew.  "  We  will  get  up  among  these  mountains  and 
be  delayed,  and  we  are  in  no  condition  whatever  to 
travel,  anyway,"  he  told  Brewster,  as  the  advance 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  119 

guard  halted  again,  and  Landor,  with  curses  in  his 
heart  but  a  civil  tongue  withal,  trotted  up  to  them. 

They  were  fighting.  "  Captain,  what  do  you  say  to 
following  this  trail  ?  "  they  clamored. 

Landor  explained  to  them  that  he  was  not  doing  the 
thinking,  that  it  was  their  campaign.  "  You  are  my 
guides.  You  know  the  country,  and  I  don't."  He 
reminded  them  again  that  they  had  promised  to  lead 
him  to  Indians,  and  that  he  was  ready  to  be  led.  If  they 
thought  the  hostiles  were  to  be  reached  by  following 
the  trail,  he  would  follow  it. 

Some  of  them  did  think  so.  Some  of  them  thought 
on  the  contrary,  that  it  would  be  surer  to  make  a  detour, 
leaving  the  trail.  They  knew  the  spot,  the  bed  of  an 
ancient  mountain  lake,  where  the  hostiles  were  sure  to 
camp. 

Landor  sat  and  heard  them  out,  silence  on  his  lips 
and  wrath  upon  his  brow.  "  We  will  go  wherever  you 
say,"  he  reiterated  immovably. 

The  captain  they  had  elected  for  themselves  was  for 
following ;  the  seven  others  agreed  upon  a  detour. 
They  had  ideas  of  their  own  concerning  obedience  to 
superiors.  They  left  the  trail  in  spite  of  the  vehement 
assurance  of  their  captain  that  they  would  without 
doubt  get  all  manner  of  profanity  knocked  out  of  them, 
and  hasten  their  inevitable  journey  to  Gehenna  if  they 
went  into  the  timber. 

The  advance  guard  advanced  less  and  less.  Half 
drunk  and  ever  drinking,  in  quaking  fear  of  the  timber, 
it  kept  falling  back. 


120  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

"I'll  be  hanged,"  opined  Landor,  as  his  own  horse 
bit  at  the  croup  of  a  citizen's  horse,  eliciting  a  kick  and 
a  squeal,  "I'll  be  hanged  if  you  shall  demoralize  my 
column  like  this.  You'll  keep  ahead  if  I  have  to  halt 
here  all  night  to  make  you.  I've  given  you  the  post  of 
honor.  If  I  put  my  men  in  the  van,  I'd  choose  the  best 
ones,  and  they'd  be  flattered,  too.  You  wouldn't  catch 
them  skulking  back  on  the  command." 

They  spurred  forward  unwillingly,  thus  urged.  At 
sundown  they  came  to  the  old  lake  bed  and  camped 
there.  According  to  the  citizens  it  was  a  regular 
Indian  camping-place  for  the  hostiles,  since  the  days  of 
Cochise. 

The  horses  were  tied  to  a  ground  line,  to  avoid  the 
embarrassment  of  a  loose  herd,  in  the  event  of  an 
engagement.  Pickets  were  sent  out  to  give  warning 
at  the  approach  of  Indians.  It  was  winter  here  in  the 
mountains,  while  it  was  hot  summer  in  the  alkali  flats 
below,  but  the  men  were  forbidden  fires.  And  it  was  a 
fierce  grievance  to  the  citizens,  as  was  also  that  they 
were  not  allowed  to  go  out  to  shoot  wild  turkeys.  They 
remonstrated  sulkily. 

Lander's  patience  was  worn  out.  "It's  a  con- 
foundedly curious  thing,"  he  told  them,  "for  men 
who  really  want  to  find  Indians,  to  go  shooting  and 
building  fires."  And  he  sent  them  to  rest  upon  their 
arms  and  upon  the  cold,  damp  ground. 

But  there  was  no  night  alarm,  and  at  daybreak  it 
began  to  be  apparent  to  the  troops  that  they  had  been 
led  directly  away  from  all  chance  of  one.  They  made 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  121 

fires,  ate  their  breakfast,  resaddled,  and  took  their  way 
back  to  the  settlements,  doubling  on  their  own  trail. 
They  came  upon  signs  of  a  yet  larger  band,  and  it  was 
more  probable  than  ever  that  the  valley  had  been  in 
danger. 

Landor  cursed  the  malpais  and  the  men  who  were 
leading  him  over  it.  "  How  much  more  of  this  rough 
country  is  there  going  to  be  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  they 
stopped  to  shoe  two  horses  that  had  come  unshod  on 
the  sharp  rocks.  "Colonel,"  they  made  answer  with 
much  dignity,  "  we  are  more  anxious  than  you  to  get 
back  to  our  defenceless  women  and  children." 

The  defenceless  women  and  children  were  safe,  how- 
ever :  a  captain,  ranking  Landor,  reported  to  that 
effect  when  he  met  them  some  dozen  miles  outside  San 
Tomaso.  He  reported  further  that  he  had  a  pack-train 
for  Landor  and  orders  to  absorb  his  troop.  Landor 
protested  at  having  to  retrace  their  trail  at  once.  His 
men  and  his  stock  were  in  no  state  to  travel.  The 
men  were  footsore  and  blistered.  They  had  led  their 
horses,  for  the  most  part,  up  and  down  rough  hills  for 
two  days.  But  the  trail  was  too  hot  and  too  large 
to  be  abandoned.  They  unsaddled,  and  partaking 
together  of  coffee  and  bacon  and  biscuits,  mounted  and 
went  off  once  more.  Their  bones  ached,  and  the  feet  of 
many  of  them  bled  ;  but  the  citizens  had  gone  their 
way  to  their  homes  in  the  valley,  and  they  felt  that,  on 
the  whole,  they  had  reason  to  be  glad. 


IT  was  tea  time  at  the  Circle  K  Ranch.  But  no  one 
was  enjoying  the  hour  of  rest.  Kirby  sat  on  the  couch 
and  abstractedly  ate  slice  after  slice  of  thin  bread 
and  butter,  without  speaking.  Mrs.  Kirby  made  shift 
to  darn  the  bunch  of  stockings  beside  her,  but  her 
whole  attention  was  strained  to  listening.  The  chil- 
dren did  not  understand,  though  they  felt  the  general 
uneasiness,  and  whispered  together  as  they  looked  at 
the  pictures  in  the  illustrated  paper,  months  old. 

Kirby's  assistants,  the  two  young  Englishmen,  had 
not  come  back  when  they  were  due.  One  had  gone 
to  the  mail  station  in  the  valley,  three  days  before,  and 
he  should  have  returned  at  noon,  at  the  furthest 
limit.  By  three  o'clock,  the  other  had  jumped  on  a 
horse  and  gone  out  to  look  for  him.  And  now,  one 
was  lying  in  the  road  five  miles  from  the  ranch,  with 
an  arrow  through  his  eye.  The  other,  a  mile  nearer 
home,  was  propped  against  a  pine  trunk,  so  that  the 
ragged  hole  beneath  his  shoulder  blade,  where  a  barb 
had  been  torn  out,  did  not  show.  His  wide  eyes,  upon 
the  lid  of  one  of  which  the  blood  from  a  head  wound 
had  clotted,  looked  up  sightless  through  the  branches, 
at  a  patch  of  blue  sky.  Their  end  had  been  a  common 

122 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  123 

enough  one,  and  had  come  to  them  both  without  a 
moment  of  warning 

At  noon  that  day  a  cow-boy  had  ridden  from  the 
hills  with  a  rumor  that  Victorio's  people  were  about. 
But  Kirby  had  kept  it  from  his  wife.  It  might  not  be 
true.  And  even  if  it  were,  the  danger  was  really  small. 
With  the  hands  and  the  two  Englishmen,  the  quad- 
rangle of  log  cabins,  well  stocked  with  food  and  ammu- 
nition, could  withstand  any  attack.  It  had  been  built 
and  planned  to  that  end. 

The  silence,  cut  by  the  nervous  whispering  of  the 
children,  became  unendurable.  "  Are  you  very  uneasy 
about  them  ?  "  Mrs.  Kirby  asked. 

"It's  not  so  much  that,"  he  evaded,  getting  up  to 
put  a  lump  of  sugar  he  did  not  need  into  his  tea,  "  it's 
not  so  much  that  as  it  is  the  everlasting  strain  of  fight- 
ing the  hands.  It  would  be  easier  to  meet  an  open  re- 
bellion than  it  is  to  battle  against  their  sullen  ugliness." 

Mrs.  Kirby  could  understand  that  very  well.  She 
had  the  same  thing  to  oppose  day  after  day  with  the 
woman,  and  of  late  it  had  been  more  marked. 

Out  in  the  corral  the  cow-boy  was  holding  forth. 
The  men  had  stopped  work  on  the  instant  that  Kirby 
had  turned  his  back.  If  Kirby  could  loll  on  soft 
cushions  and  drink  tea,  as  free-born  Americans  and 
free-souled  Irishmen  they  might  do  the  same.  "It's 
all  right,"  said  the  cow-boy,  with  a  running  accompani- 
ment of  profanity,  as  he  cleaned  his  brutal  Mexican 
bit.  "Johnny  Bull  don't  have  to  believe  in  it  if  he 
don't  like.  But  all  the  same,  I  seen  a  feller  over  here 


124  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

to  the  3  C  Range,  and  he  told  me  he  seen  the  military 
camped  over  to  San  Tomaso  a  week  ago,  and  that  there 
was  a  lot  of  stock,  hundred  head  or  so,  run  off  from 
the  settlements.  You  see,  them  Apaches  is  making 
for  the  southern  Chiricahuas  over  in  Sonora  to  join  the 
Mexican  Apaches,  and  they're  going  to  come  this  here 
way.  You  see  !  "  and  he  rubbed  at  the  rust  vigorously 
with  a  piece  of  soft  rawhide. 

The  woman  joined  her  voice.  She  had  a  meat 
cleaver  in  her  hand,  and  there  was  blood  on  her  apron 
where  she  had  wiped  the  roast  she  was  now  leaving  to 
burn  in  the  stove.  "  Like  as  not  we'll  all  be  massacred. 
I  told  Bill  to  get  off  this  place  two  weeks  ago,  and 
he's  such  an  infernal  loafer  he  couldn't  make  up  his 
mind  to  move  hisself."  She  flourished  her  cleaver 
toward  the  big  Texan,  her  husband,  who  balanced  on 
the  tongue  of  a  wagon,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  smil- 
ing ruefully  and  apologetically,  and  chewing  with  an 
ardor  he  never  put  to  any  other  work.  "  We  been 
here  four  years  now,"  she  went  on  raspingly,  "  and  if 
you  all  feel  like  staying  here  to  be  treated  like  slaves 
by  these  John  Bulls,  you  can  do  it.  But  you  bet  I 
know  when  I've  got  enough.  To-morrow  I  quits." 
Her  jaws  snapped  shut,  and  she  stood  glaring  at  them 
defiantly. 

The  words  of  a  woman  in  a  community  where  women 
are  few  carry  almost  the  weight  of  inspiration.  Be 
she  never  so  hideous  or  so  vile,  she  is  in  some  measure 
a  Deborah,  and  the  more  yet,  if  she  be  moved  to  the 
lust  and  love  of  revenge  of  the  prophetess  who  sang 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  125 

in  the  frenzy  of  blood  drunkenness,  "  Blessed  above 
women  shall  Jael  the  wife  of  Heber,  the  Kenite,  be. 
Blessed  shall  she  be  above  women  in  the  tent." 

The  Declaration  of  Independence  roused  the  screech- 
ing eagle  of  freedom  in  the  breasts  of  all  the  white  men. 
With  the  Mexicans  it  was  a  slightly  different  sentiment. 
At  best  they  could  never  be  relied  upon  for  steady 
service.  A  couple  of  months'  pay  in  their  pockets,  and 
they  must  rest  them  for  at  least  six.  It  is  always  to 
be  taken  into  consideration  when  they  are  hired.  They 
had  been  paid  only  the  day  before.  And,  moreover, 
the  Greaser  follows  the  Gringo's  lead  easily  —  to  his 
undoing. 

The  murmurs  in  the  corral  rose  louder.  It  was  not 
that  Kirby  and  his  partners  underpaid,  underfed,  or 
overworked  the  American  citizens.  It  was  that  their 
language  was  decent  and  moderate  ;  and  the  lash  of 
the  slave  driver  would  have  stung  less  than  the  sight 
of  the  black  coats  and  the  seven  o'clock  dinner.  In 
the  midst  of  white  savages  and  red,  the  four  clung  to 
the  forms  of  civilization  with  that  dogged  persistence 
in  the  unessential,  that  worship  of  the  memory  of  a 
forsaken  home,  for  which  the  Englishman,  time  and 
again,  lays  down  his  life  without  hesitation.  That 
was  the  grievance. 

While  Kirby  went  through  the  oppressive  rite  of  after- 
noon tea  within  the  slant-roofed  log  cabin,  and  tried  to 
hide  from  his  wife  the  fear  which  grew  as  the  shadows 
lengthened  across  the  clearing  out  in  the  corral,  the  men 
had  reached  open  mutiny.  The  smouldering  sullenness 


126  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

had  at  last  burst  into  flaming  defiance,  blown  by  the 
gale  of  the  woman's  wrath. 

After  he  had  had  his  tea  Kirby  got  up,  went  out  to 
the  corral,  and  called  to  one  of  the  men,  who  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  then  slouched  over,  kicking  with  his  heavy 
booted  toe  as  he  passed  at  the  hocks  of  a  horse  in  one 
of  the  stalls.  Kirby  saw  him  do  it,  but  he  checked  his 
wrath.  He  had  learned  to  put  up  with  many  things. 
"  Don't  you  think,"  he  suggested,  "  that  it  might  be 
a  good  idea  for  you  and  some  other  man  to  ride  down 
the  road  a  bit  —  " 

The  man  interrupted,  "  I  ain't  going  daown  the 
road,  nor  anywheres  else  before  supper  —  nor  after 
supper  neither,  if  I  don't  feel  like  it."  He  was  bold 
enough  in  speech,  but  his  eyes  dropped  before  Kirby 's 
indignant  ones. 

It  was  a  fatal  want  of  tact  perhaps,  characteristic  of 
the  race,  but  then  the  characteristic  is  so  fine.  "  You 
will  do  whatever  I  tell  you  to  do,"  the  voice  was  low 
and  strained,  but  not  wavering.  It  reached  the  group 
by  the  harness-room  door. 

With  one  accord  they  strode  forward  to  the  support 
of  their  somewhat  browbeaten  brother.  What  they 
would  do  was  exactly  as  they  pleased,  they  told  the 
tyrant.  They  shook  their  fists  in  his  face.  It  was  all 
in  the  brutal  speech  of  the  frontier,  mingled  with  the 
liquid  ripple  of  argot  Spanish,  and  its  vicious,  musical 
oaths.  The  deep  voice  of  the  woman  carried  above 
everything,  less  decent  than  the  men.  It  was  a  storm 
of  injury. 


THE   HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  127 

Kirby  was  without  fear,  but  he  was  also  without 
redress.  He  turned  from  them,  his  face  contracted  with 
the  pain  of  his  impotence,  and  walked  back  to  the  house. 
"  I  could  order  them  off  the  ranch  to-night,"  he  told  his 
wife,  as  he  dropped  on  a  chair,  and  taking  up  the  hearth 
brush  made  a  feint  of  sweeping  two  or  three  cinders 
from  the  floor;  "  but  it's  ten  to  one  they  wouldn't  go  and 
it  would  weaken  my  authority  —  not  that  I  have  any,  to 
be  sure  —  and  besides,"  he  flung  down  the  brush  desper- 
ately and  turned  to  her,  "  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you 
before,  but  there  is  a  pretty  straight  rumor  that  Victo- 
rio's  band,  or  a  part  of  it,  is  in  these  hills.  We  may 
need  the  men  at  any  time."  Neither  spoke  of  the  two 
who  should  have  been  back  hours  ago.  The  night  closed 
slowly  down. 

The  Texan  woman  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and 
finished  cooking  the  supper  for  the  hands  —  a  charred 
sort  of  Saturnalian  feast.  "  She  can  git  her  own  dinner 
if  she  wants  to,"  she  proclaimed,  and  was  answered  by 
a  chorus  of  approval. 

While  the  men  sat  at  the  long  table,  shovelling  in 
with  knife  and  three-pronged  fork  the  food  of  the 
master  their  pride  forbade  them  to  serve,  a  horse  came 
at  a  run,  up  to  the  quadrangle,  and  a  cow-boy  rushed 
into  the  open  doorway.  "  Apaches  !  "  he  gasped,  clutch- 
ing at  the  lintel,  wild-eyed,  "  Apaches  !  " 

They  sprang  up,  with  a  clatter  of  dishes  and  over- 
turning of  benches  and  a  simultaneous  cry  of  "  Where- 
abouts ?  " 

He  had  seen  a  large  band  heading  for  the  ranch,  and 


128  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

had  found  a  dead  white  man  on  the  north  road,  he  said, 
and  he  gesticulated  madly,  his  voice  choked  with  terror. 

Had  it  been  all  arranged,  planned,  and  rehearsed  for 
months  beforehand,  the  action  could  not  have  been 
more  united.  They  crowded  past  him  out  of  the  door 
and  ran  for  the  corrals,  and  each  dragged  a  horse  or  a 
mule  from  the  stalls,  flinging  on  a  halter  or  rope  or 
bridle,  whatever  came  to  hand,  from  the  walls  of  the 
harness  room. 

But  there  was  more  stock  than  was  needed. 

"  Turn  the  rest  loose,"  cried  the  woman,  and  set  the 
example  herself. 

Kirby,  hurrying  from  the  house  to  learn  the  cause  of 
the  new  uproar,  was  all  but  knocked  down  and  trodden 
under  the  hoofs  of  all  his  stock,  driven  from  the  enclos- 
ure with  cracking  of  whips  and  with  stones.  Then  a 
dozen  ridden  horses  crowded  over  the  dropped  bars, 
the  woman  in  the  lead  astride,  as  were  the  men. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  shouted,  grabbing  at  a  halter- 
shank  and  clinging  to  it  until  a  knife  slashed  down  on 
his  wrist. 

"  Apaches  on  the  north  road,"  they  called  back  ;  and 
the  woman  screamed  above  it  all  a  devilish  farewell, 
"Better  have  'em  to  dinner  in  claw-hammer  coats." 

It  was  a  sheer  waste  of  good  ammunition,  and  it 
might  serve  as  a  signal  to  the  Indians  as  well ;  Kirby 
knew  it,  and  yet  he  emptied  his  six-shooter  into  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  trees  where  they  had  vanished, 
toward  the  south. 

Then  he  ran  into  the  corral,  and,  snatching  up  a  Ian- 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  129 

tern  from  the  harness  room,  looked  around.  It  was 
empty.  There  was  only  a  pack-burro  wandering  loose 
and  nosing  at  the  grains  in  the  mangers. 

He  turned  and  went  back  to  the  cabin,  where  his  wife 
stood  at  the  door,  with  the  children  clinging  to  her. 
From  down  the  north  road  there  came  a  blood-freezing 
yell,  and  a  shot,  reverberating,  rattling  from  hill  to 
hill,  muffling  into  silence  among  the  crowding  pines. 

As  he  shut  the  door  and  bolted  it  with  the  great 
iron  rods,  there  tore  into  the  clearing  a  score  of  vague, 
savage  figures.  It  looked,  when  he  saw  it  for  an 
instant,  as  he  put  up  the  wooden  blinds,  like  some 
phantom  dance  of  the  devils  of  the  mountains,  so  silent 
they  were,  with  their  unshod  ponies,  so  quick  moving. 
And  then  a  short  silence  was  broken  by  cries  and  shots, 
the  pinge  of  bullets,  and  the  whizz  of  arrows. 

There  were  two  rooms  to  the  cabin  where  they 
were,  the  big  sitting  room  and  the  small  bedchamber 
beyond.  Kirby  went  into  the  bedroom  and  came  out 
with  two  rifles  and  a  revolver.  He  put  the  revolver 
into  his  wife's  hands.  "  I'll  do  my  best,  you  know, 
dear.  But  if  I'm  done  for,  if  there  is  no  hope  for 
you  and  the  children,  use  it,"  he  said.  And  added, 
"You  understand?" 

Of  a  truth  she  understood  only  too  well,  that  death 
with  a  bullet  through  the  brain  could  be  a  tender 
mercy. 

"Not  until  there  is  no  hope,"  he  impressed,  as  he 
put  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  through  a  knot  hole  and  fired 
at  random. 


130  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

She  reloaded  for  him,  and  fired  from  time  to  time 
herself,  and  he  moved  from  the  little  round  hole  in  the 
wall  to  one  in  the  window  blind,  in  the  feeble,  the 
faithless  hope  that  the  Indians  might  perhaps  be  de- 
ceived, might  fancy  that  there  was  more  than  the  one 
forsaken  man  fighting  with  unavailing  courage  for  the 
quiet  woman  who  stayed  close  by  his  side,  and  for 
the  two  children,  huddled  whimpering  in  one  corner, 
their  little  trembling  arms  clasped  round  each  other's 
necks. 

Twenty,  yes  ten,  of  those  who,  as  the  sound  of  the 
firing  reached  their  ears,  were  making  off  at  a  run 
down  the  south  road  for  the  settlement  in  the  valley, 
could  have  saved  the  fair-haired  children  and  the  young 
mother,  who  helped  in  the  fruitless  fight  without 
a  plaint  of  fear.  Ten  men  could  have  done  it,  could 
have  done  it  easily  ;  but  not  one  man.  And  Kirby 
knew  it  now,  as  the  light  of  flames  began  to  show 
through  the  chinks  of  the  logs,  and  the  weight  of 
heavy  bodies  thudded  against  the  door. 

It  was  a  strong  door,  built  of  great  thick  boards  and 
barred  with  iron,  but  it  must  surely  cede  before  fire 
and  the  blows.  It  wrenched  on  its  huge  hinges. 

Kirby  set  down  his  gun  and  turned  to  his  wife,  hold- 
ing out  his  arms.  She  went  to  him  and  he  kissed  her 
on  the  forehead  and  the  lips,  in  farewell.  "  Good-by," 
he  said  ;  "now  take  the  children  in  there." 

No  need  to  tell  her  that  her  courage  must  not  falter 
at  that  last  moment,  which  would  soon  come.  He  knew 
it,  as  he  looked  straight  into  those  steadfast,  loving 


TELE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  131 

eyes.  She  clung  to  his  hand  and  stooped  and  kissed  it, 
too  ;  then  she  went  to  the  children  and  took  them,  quiv- 
ering and  crying,  into  the  other  room,  and  closed  the 
dividing  door. 

Kirby,  with  a  revolver  in  each  hand,  placed  himself 
before  it.  It  would  avail  nothing.  But  a  man  must 
needs  fight  to  the  end.  And  the  end  was  now. 

There  was  a  stronger  blow  at  the  door,  as  of  a  log 
used  by  way  of  a  ram.  It  gave,  swayed,  and  fell  crash- 
ing in,  and  the  big  room  swarmed  with  screaming  fiends, 
their  eyes  gleaming  wildly  in  the  light  of  the  burning 
hay  and  the  branches  piled  against  the  cabin,  as  they 
waved  their  arms  over  their  feathered  heads. 

The  one  man  at  bay  whirled  round  twice,  with  a 
bullet  in  his  heart  and  an  arrow  through  his  neck. 
"Now  !  "  he  made  one  fierce  effort  to  cry,  as  he  stag- 
gered again  and  dropped  on  his  face,  to  be  trampled 
under  forty  feet. 

It  was  the  signal  to  the  woman  in  that  other  room  be- 
hind the  locked  door,  and  above  all  the  demoniacal 
sounds  it  reached  her.  Only  an  instant  she  hesitated, 
until  that  door,  too,  began  to  give.  Then  a  cold  muzzle 
of  steel  found,  in  the  darkness,  two  little  struggling, 
dodging  faces —  and  left  them  marred.  And  once  again 
the  trigger  was  unflinchingly  pulled,  as  greedy  arms 
reached  out  to  catch  the  white,  woman's  figure  that 
staggered  and  fell. 

******** 

Cairness  and  Landor  and  a  detachment  of  troops  that 
had  ridden  hard  all  through  the  night,  following  an 


132  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

appalling  trail,  but  coining  too  late  after  all,  found  them 
so  in  the  early  dawn. 

There  was  a  mutilated  thing  that  had  once  been  a 
man's  body  on  the  floor  in  the  half-burned  log  cabin. 
And  in  another  room  lay  two  children,  whose  smooth, 
baby  foreheads  were  marked,  each  with  a  round  violet- 
edged  hole.  Beside  them  was  their  mother,  with  her 
face  turned  to  the  rough  boards — mercifully.  For 
there  had  been  no  time  to  choose  the  placing  of  that 
last  shot,  and  it  had  disfigured  cruelly  as  it  did  its  cer- 
tain work. 


XI 

IT  was  not  quite  an  all-summer  campaign.  The 
United  States  government  drove  the  hostiles  over  the 
border  into  the  provinces  of  the  Mexican  government, 
which  understood  the  problem  rather  better  than  our- 
selves, and  hunted  the  Apache,  as  we  the  coyote,  with 
a  bounty  upon  his  scalp. 

Thereafter  some  of  the  troops  sat  down  at  the  water- 
holes  along  the  border  to  watch,  and  to  write  back  pa- 
thetic requests  for  all  the  delicacies  supplied  by  the 
commissariat,  from  anchovy  paste  and  caviare  to  tinned 
mushrooms  and  cove  oysters.  A  man  may  live  upon 
bacon  and  beans  and  camp  bread,  or  upon  even  less, 
when  his  duty  to  his  country  demands,  but  it  is  not  in 
the  Articles  of  War  that  he  should  continue  to  do  so 
any  longer  than  lack  of  transportation  compels. 

Others  of  the  troops  were  ordered  in,  and  among 
them  was  Landor's.  It  had  gone  out  for  a  twenty  days' 
scout,  and  had  been  in  the  field  two  months.  It  was 
ragged  and  all  but  barefoot,  and  its  pack-train  was  in  a 
pitiable  way.  Weeks  of  storm  in  the  Mogollons  and 
days  of  quivering  heat  on  the  plains  had  brought  its 
clothing  and  blankets  to  the  last  stages. 

Moreover,  Landor  was  very  ill.  In  the  Mogollons  he 
had  gathered  and  pressed  specimens  of  the  gorgeous 

133 


134  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

wild  flowers  that  turn  the  plateaux  into  a  million-hued 
Eden,  and  one  day  there  had  lurked  among  the  blossoms 
a  sprig  of  poison  weed,  with  results  which  were  threat- 
ening to  be  serious.  He  rode  at  the  head  of  his  column, 
however,  as  it  made  for  home  by  way  of  the  Aravaypa 
Canon. 

Were  the  canon  of  the  Aravaypa  in  any  other  place 
than  Arizona,  which,  as  the  intelligent  public  knows,  is 
all  one  wide  expanse  of  dry  and  thirsty  country,  a 
parched  place  in  the  wilderness,  a  salt  land,  and  not 
inhabited  ;  were  it  in  any  other  place,  it  would  be  set 
forth  in  railway  folders,  and  there  would  be  camping 
privileges  and  a  hotel,  and  stages  would  make  regular 
trips  to  it,  and  one  would  come  upon  groups  of  ex- 
cursionists on  burros,  or  lunching  among  its  boulders. 
Already  it  has  been  in  a  small  way  discovered,  and  is 
on  the  road  to  being  vulgarized  by  the  camera.  The 
lover  of  Nature,  he  who  loves  the  soul  as  well  as  the 
face  of  her,  receives  when  he  sees  a  photograph  of  a  fine 
bit  of  scenery  he  had  felt  in  a  way  his  own  property 
until  then,  something  the  blow  that  the  lover  of  a 
woman  does  when  he  learns  that  other  men  than  he 
have  known  her  caresses. 

But  in  the  days  of  Victorio  and  his  predecessors  and 
successors,  Aravaypa  Canon  was  a  fastness.  Men  went 
in  to  hunt  for  gold,  and  sometimes  they  came  out  alive, 
and  sometimes  they  did  not.  Occasionally  Apaches 
met  their  end  there  as  well. 

There  was  one  who  had  done  s®  now.  The  troops 
looking  up  at  him,  rejoiced.  He  was  crucified  upon  an 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  135 

improvised  cross  of  unbarked  pine  branches,  high  up 
at  the  top  of  a  sheer  peak  of  rock.  He  stood  out  black 
and  strange  against  the  whitish  blue  of  the  sky.  His 
head  was  dropped  upon  his  fleshless  breast,  and  there 
was  a  vulture  perched  upon  it,  prying  its  hooked  bill 
around  in  the  eye  sockets.  Two  more,  gorged  and 
heavy,  balanced  half  asleep  upon  points  of  stone. 

It  was  all  a  most  charming  commentary  upon  the 
symbol  and  practice  of  Christianity,  in  a  Christian 
land,  and  the  results  thereof  as  regarded  the  heathen 
of  that  land  —  if  one  happened  to  see  it  in  that  way. 

But  the  men  did  not.  It  was  hardly  to  be  expected 
that  they  should,  both  because  the  abstract  and  the 
ethical  are  foreign  to  the  major  part  of  mankind,  in 
any  case ;  and  also  because,  with  this  particular  small 
group  of  mankind,  there  was  too  fresh  a  memory  of  a 
dead  woman  lying  by  the  bodies  of  her  two  children  in 
a  smouldering  log  cabin  among  the  mountains  and  the 
pines. 

They  rode  on,  along  the  trail,  at  a  walk  and  by  file, 
and  directly  they  came  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
question.  Lander's  horse  stopped,  with  its  forefeet 
planted,  and  a  snort  of  fright.  Landor  had  been  bent 
far  back,  looking  up  at  a  shaft  of  rock  that  rose 
straight  from  the  bottom  and  pierced  the  heavens  hun- 
dreds of  feet  above,  and  he  was  very  nearly  unseated. 
But  he  caught  himself  and  held  up  his  hand  as  a 
signal  to  halt. 

There  were  two  bodies  lying  across  the  trail  in  front 
of  him.  He  dismounted,  and  throwing  his  reins  to  the 


136  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

trumpeter  went  forward  to  investigate.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  task.  The  men  had  been  dead  some  time  and 
their  clothing  was  beginning  to  fall  away  in  shreds. 
Some  of  their  outfit  was  scattered  about,  and  he  could 
guess  from  it  that  they  had  been  prospectors.  A  few 
feet  away  was  the  claim  they  had  been  working. 
Only  their  arms  had  been  stolen,  otherwise  nothing 
appeared  to  be  missing.  There  was  even  in  the 
pockets  considerable  coin,  in  gold  and  silver,  which 
Landor  found,  when  he  took  a  long  knife  from  his 
saddle  bags,  and  standing  as  far  off  as  might  be,  slit 
the  cloth  open. 

The  knife  was  one  he  had  brought  from  home,  seiz- 
ing it  from  the  kitchen  table  at  the  last  minute.  It 
was  very  sharp  and  had  been  Felipa's  treasured  bread 
cutter.  It  came  in  very  well  just  now,  chiefly  because 
of  its  length. 

He  called  the  first  sergeant  to  his  aid.  Brewster  was 
in  the  rear  of  the  command,  and,  as  had  occurred  with 
increasing  frequency  in  the  last  two  months,  showed  no 
desire  to  be  of  any  more  use  than  necessary.  As  for 
Cairness,  who  had  been  more  of  a  lieutenant  to  Landor 
than  the  officer  himself,  he  had  left  the  command  two 
days  before  and  gone  back  to  the  San  Carlos  reservation. 

So  the  captain  and  the  first  sergeant  took  up  the 
money  and  the  loose  papers,  together  with  a  couple 
of  rings  from  the  hands,  and  wrapping  them  in  a 
poncho,  carried  them  off  to  serve  as  possible  means  of 
identification,  for  it  had  got  beyond  all  question  of 
features.  Then  two  men  moved  the  bodies  from  the 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  137 

trail,  with  long  sticks,  and  covered  them  with  a  pile  of 
stones.  Landor  found  a  piece  of  board  by  the  mouth 
of  the  claim  and  drew  on  it,  with  an  end  of  charred 
stick,  a  skull  and  cross  bones  with  a  bow  and  arrow, 
and  stood  it  up  among  the  stones,  in  sign  to  all  who 
might  chance  to  pass  thereby  that  since  men  had  here 
died  at  the  hands  of  the  Apaches,  other  men  might  yet 
meet  a  like  fate. 

On  the  next  day  they  were  in  the  flat,  nearing  the 
post.  There  was  a  dust  storm.  Earlier  in  the  morn- 
ing the  air  had  grown  suddenly  more  dry,  more  close 
and  lifeless  than  ever,  suffocating,  and  a  yellow  cloud 
had  come  in  the  western  sky.  Then  a  hot  wind  began 
to  blow  the  horses'  manes  and  tails,  to  snarl  through 
the  greasewood  bushes,  and  to  snap  the  loose  ends 
of  the  men's  handkerchiefs  sharply.  The  cloud  had 
thinned  and  spread,  high  up  in  the  sky,  and  the  light 
had  become  almost  that  of  a  sullen  evening.  Black 
bits  floated  and  whirled  high  overhead,  and  birds  beat 
about  in  the  gale.  Gradually  the  gale  and  the  dust 
had  dropped  nearer  to  the  earth,  a  sand  mist  had  gone 
into  every  pore  and  choked  and  parched.  And  now 
the  tepid,  thick  wind  was  moaning  across  the  plain, 
meeting  no  point  of  resistance  anywhere. 

Landor  still  rode  at  the  head  of  his  column,  but  his 
chin  was  sunk  down  on  his  red  silk  neckerchief,  his 
face  was  swollen  and  distorted  under  its  thick  beard, 
and  his  eyes  were  glazed.  They  stared  straight  ahead 
into  the  sand  whirl  and  the  sulphurous  glare.  He 
had  sent  Brewster  on  ahead  some  hours  before.  "  You 


138  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

will  want  to  see  Miss  McLane  as  soon  as  possible," 
he  had  said,  "  and  there  is  no  need  of  both  of  us  here." 

Brewster  had  taken  an  escort  and  disappeared  down 
the  vista  of  white  sands  and  scrub  growth,  though  it 
was  Landor  himself  who  should  have  gone.  He  swayed 
now  in  the  saddle,  his  thick  lips  hung  open,  and  he 
moved  in  a  mental  cloud  as  dense  as  the  one  of  dust 
that  poured  round  him. 

Brewster  reached  the  post  some  eighteen  hours  ahead 
of  him.  He  reported,  and  saw  Miss  McLane  ;  then 
he  made  himself  again  as  other  men  and  went  down 
to  the  post  trader's,  with  a  definite  aim  in  view,  that 
was  hardly  to  be  guessed  from  his  loitering  walk. 
There  were  several  already  in  the  officers'  room,  and 
they  talked,  as  a  matter  of  course,  of  the  campaign. 

"  Seen  the  way  Lander's  been  catching  it  ?  "  they 
asked. 

And  Brewster  said  he  had  not. 

They  went  on  to  tell  him  that  it  was  all  in  the 
Tucson  papers,  which  Brewster  knew,  however,  quite 
as  well  as  they  did  themselves.  He  had  made  friends 
among  the  citizen  volunteers  of  San  Tomaso  on  the 
night  they  had  camped  by  the  old  lake  bed,  and  they 
had  seen  that  he  was  kept  supplied  with  cuttings. 

But  he  pleaded  entire  ignorance,  and  the  others  were 
at  considerable  pains  to  enlighten  him. 

It  appeared  that  Landor  was  accused  of  cowardice, 
and  that  his  name  was  handled  with  the  delicate  sar- 
casm usual  with  Western  journalism  —  as  fine  and 
pointed  as  a  Stone-age  axe. 


THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  139 

Brewster  poured  himself  a  glass  of  beer  and  drank 
it  contemplatively  and  was  silent.  Then  he  set  it 
down  on  the  bare  table  with  a  sharp  little  rap,  sug- 
gesting determination  made.  It  was  suggestive  of 
yet  more  than  this,  and  caused  them  to  say  "  Well  ?  " 
with  a  certain  eagerness.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  changed  the  subject,  refusing  pointedly  to  be 
brought  back  to  it,  and  succeeding  altogether  in  the 
aim  which  had  brought  him  down  there. 

But  that  same  night  he  picked  two  for  their  reputa- 
tion of  repeating  all  they  knew,  and  took  them  into 
his  own  rooms  and  told  his  story  to  them.  And  he  met 
once  again  with  such  success  that  when  Landor  rode 
into  the  post  the  next  day  at  about  guard-mounting,  three 
officers,  meeting  him,  raised  their  caps  and  passed  on. 

It  struck  even  through  Lander's  pain-blurred  brain 
that  it  was  odd.  But  the  few  faculties  he  could  com- 
mand still  were  all  engaged  in  keeping  himself  in  the 
saddle  until  he  could  reach  his  own  house,  where 
Ellton  and  Felipa  were  waiting  to  get  him  to  his 
room. 

He  went  upon  the  sick  report  at  once,  and  for  three 
days  thereafter  raved  of  crucified  women  with  fair  hair, 
of  children  lying  dead  in  the  canon,  of  the  holes  in 
his  boot  soles,  and  a  missing  aparejo,  also  of  certain 
cursed  citizens,  and  the  bad  quality  of  the  canned 
butter. 

Then  he  began  to  come  to  himself  and  to  listen  to 
all  that  Felipa  had  to  tell  him  of  the  many  things  she 
had  not  put  in  her  short  and  labored  letters.  He  saw 


140  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

that  she  looked  more  beautiful  and  less  well  than  when 
he  had  left  her.  There  was  a  shadow  of  weariness  on 
her  face  that  gave  it  a  soft  wistfulness  which  was 
altogether  becoming.  He  supposed  it  was  because 
she  had  nursed  him  untiringly,  as  she  had;  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  to  thank  her,  because  she  had  done 
only  what  was  a  wife's  duty,  only  what  he  would  have 
done  for  her  if  the  case  had  been  reversed.  Toward 
the  end  of  the  day  he  began  to  wonder  that  no  one 
had  been  to  see  him,  and  he  spoke  of  it. 

"  Mr.  Ellton  was  here  this  morning,"  Felipa  told  him, 
"and  he  will  be  in  again  before  retreat." 

But  he  was  not  satisfied.  His  entry  into  the  post 
and  the  cool  greeting  of  the  three  officers  began  to  come 
back  to  him. 

Felipa  could  be  untruthful  with  an  untroubled  soul 
and  countenance  to  those  she  disliked.  In  her  inherited 
code,  treachery  to  an  enemy  was  not  only  excusable,  but 
right.  But  not  even  in  order  to  save  her  husband  worry 
could  she  tell  him  a  shadow  of  an  untruth.  She  did  her 
best,  which  was  far  from  good,  to  evade,  however.  The 
others  would  probably  come,  now  that  he  could  see 
them. 

But  had  they  come  ?  he  insisted. 

The  commandant  had  sent  his  orderly  with  a  note. 

He  raised  himself  from  the  pillows  too  abruptly  for  a 
very  weak  man.  "What  is  the  matter,  Felipa?"  he 
demanded. 

She  told  him  that  she  did  not  know,  and  tried  to  coax 
him  back  to  quietness. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  141 

"  There  is  something,"  he  insisted,  dropping  his  head 
down  again  wearily. 

"  Perhaps  there  is,"  she  admitted  unwillingly. 

He  lay  thinking  for  a  while,  then  had  her  send  the 
striker  for  Ellton,  who  promptly,  and  awkwardly,  re- 
plied to  the  anxious  question  as  to  what  might  be  the 
trouble,  that  he  was  not  quite  sure,  but  perhaps  it  had 
to  do  with  these  —  "  these  "  being  a  small  roll  of  news- 
paper clippings  he  took  from  his  portfolio. 

Landor  looked  them  over  and  gave  them  back  con- 
temptuously. "  Well  ?  "  he  said,  "  there's  nothing  new 
in  all  that.  It's  devilish  exasperating,  but  it's  old  as 
Hamilcar.  I  made  an  enemy  of  a  fellow  from  Tucson, 
reporter  named  Stone,  over  at  the  San  Carlos  Agency 
a  few  years  ago.  He's  been  waiting  to  roast  me  ever 
since.  There  must  be  something  else." 

The  adjutant  agreed  reluctantly.  "  I  think  there  is. 
It  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  some  one  had  been  talking. 
I  can't  get  at  it.  But  you  must  not  bother  about  it.  It 
will  blow  over." 

As  an  attempt  at  consolation,  it  failed.  Landor 
fairly  sprang  into  a  sitting  posture,  with  a  degree  of 
impulsiveness  that  was  most  unusual  with  him.  His 
eyes  glistened  from  the  greenish  circles  around  them. 
"  Blow  over !  Good  Lord  !  do  you  suppose  I'll  let  it 
blow  over  ?  It's  got  to  be  sifted  to  the  bottom.  And 
you  know  that  as  well  as  I  do."  He  lay  weakly  back 
again,  and  Felipa  came  to  the  edge  of  the  bed  and,  sit- 
ting upon  it,  stroked  his  head  with  her  cool  hand. 

Ellton  ventured  some  assistance.     "  I  do  know  this 


142  THE   HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

much,  that  the  C.  O.  got  a  telegram  from  some  Eastern 
paper,  asking  if  the  reports  of  your  cowardice  as  given 
in  the  territorial  press  were  true." 

Landor  asked  eagerly  what  he  had  answered. 

"  I  didn't  see  the  telegram,  but  it  was  in  effect  that 
he  had  no  knowledge  of  anything  of  the  sort,  and  put 
no  faith  in  it." 

"  Doesn't  he,  though  ?  Then  why  doesn't  he  come 
around  and  see  me  when  I'm  lying  here  sick  ?  "  He 
was  wrathful  and  working  himself  back  into  a  fever 
very  fast. 

Felipa  shook  her  head  at  Ellton.  "  Don't  get  your- 
self excited  about  it,  Jack  dear,"  she  soothed,  and  Ell- 
ton  also  tried  to  quiet  him. 

"  He  will  come,  I  dare  say.  And  so  will  the  others, 
now  that  you  are  able  to  see  them.  Brewster  inquired." 

The  captain's  lips  set. 

Ellton  wondered,  but  held  his  peace.  And  the  com- 
mandant did  go  to  Landor's  quarters  within  the  next 
few  hours.  Which  was  Ellton's  doings. 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  been  said,  Major,  but  some- 
thing more  than  just  what's  in  the  papers  must  have 
gotten  about.  That  sort  of  mud-slinging  is  too  com- 
mon to  cause  comment,  even.  It  must  be  some  spite 
work.  There's  no  reason  to  suppose,  surely,  that  after 
a  quarter  of  a  century  of  gallant  service  he's  been  and 
shown  the  white  feather.  He's  awfully  cut  up,  really 
he  is.  He's  noticed  it,  of  course,  and  it's  too  deuced 
bad,  kicking  a  man  when  he's  down  sick  and  can't  help 
himself." 


THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST  143 

The  major  stopped  abruptly  in  his  walk  to  and  fro 
and  faced  him.  "  Do  you  know  more  about  it,  then, 
than  Brewster  who  was  with  him  ?  " 

Ellton  fairly  leaped  in  the  air.  "  Brewster  !  So 
it's  Brewster!  The  in — "  Then  he  recollected  that 
Brewster  was  going  to  be  the  major's  son-in-law,  and 
he  stopped  short.  "No  wonder  he  keeps  away  from 
there,"  he  simmered  down. 

"  He  told  me  it  was  because  he  and  Landor  had  had 
some  trouble  in  the  field,  and  weren't  on  the  best  of 
terms." 

"  I  say,  Major,  if  he's  got  any  charges  to  prefer  why 
doesn't  he  put  them  on  paper  and  send  them  in  to  you, 
or  else  shut  up  his  head?"  He  was  losing  his  temper 
again. 

The  major  resumed  his  walk  and  did  not  answer. 

Ellton  went  on,  lapsing  into  the  judicial.  "In  the 
meantime,  anyway,  a  man's  innocent  until  he's  proven 
guilty.  I  say,  do  go  round  and  see  him.  The  others 
will  follow  your  lead.  He's  awfully  cut  up  and  wor- 
ried, and  he's  sick,  you  know." 

So  that  evening  when  all  the  garrison  was  upon  its 
front  porches  and  the  sidewalk,  the  major  and  the 
lieutenant  went  down  the  line  to  Landor's  quarters. 
And  their  example  was  followed.  But  some  hung 
back,  and  constraint  was  in  the  air. 

Because  of  which  Landor,  as  soon  as  he  was  up,  went 
in  search  of  the  commanding  officer,  and  found  him  in 
the  adjutant's  office,  and  the  adjutant  with  him.  He 
demanded  an  explanation.  "  If  any  one  has  been  say- 


144  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

ing  anything  about  me,  I  want  to  know  it.  I  want  to 
face  him.  It  can't  be  that  newspaper  rot.  We  are  all 
too  used  to  it." 

"It  seems,  Landor,"  the  major  said,  "to  be  rather 
that  which  is  left  unsaid." 

Landor  asked  what  he  meant  by  that.  "  I'm  sick  of 
all  this  speaking  in  riddles,"  he  said. 

The  major  told  him  a  little  reluctantly.  "  Well,  it's 
this,  then :  Brewster  will  not,  or  cannot,  defend  your 
conduct  in  the  matter  of  the  San  Tomaso  volunteers." 

Landor  sat  speechless  for  a  moment.  Then  he  jumped 
up,  knocking  over  a  pile  of  registers.  He  seized  a  bone 
ruler,  much  stained  with  official  inks,  red  and  blue,  and 
slapped  it  on  the  palm  of  his  hand  for  emphasis.  "  I'll 
demand  a  court  of  inquiry  into  my  conduct.  This 
shan't  drop,  not  until  the  strongest  possible  light 
has  been  turned  on  it.  Why  doesn't  Brewster  prefer 
charges?  Either  my  conduct  was  such  that  he  can 
defend  it  openly,  or  else  it  was  such  as  to  call  for  a 
court-martial,  and  to  justify  him  in  preferring  charges. 
Certainly  nothing  can  justify  him  in  smirching  me  with 
damning  silence.  That  is  the  part  neither  of  an  officer 
nor  of  a  man."  He  kicked  one  of  the  registers  out  of 
the  way,  and  it  flapped  across  the  floor  and  lay  with 
its  leaves  crumpled  under  the  fair  leather  covers. 

"  By  George  !  McLane,  it  strikes  me  as  devilish  odd 
that  you  should  all  give  ear  to  the  insinuations  of  a 
shave-tail  like  Brewster,  against  an  old  hand  like  myself. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  until  this  thing  has  been 
cleared  up,  I  shall  thank  all  of  you  to  continue  in  your 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  145 

attitude  of  suspicion,  and  not  in  any  way  draw  on  your 
charity  by  extending  it  to  me.  I  shall  demand  a  court 
of  inquiry."  He  laid  the  ruler  back  on  the  desk.  "I 
report  for  duty,  sir,"  he  added  officially. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  self-imposed  Coventry. 
He  sent  in  a  demand  for  a  court  of  inquiry,  and  Brew- 
ster,  with  much  show  of  reluctance  and  leniency,  pre- 
ferred charges. 

The  post  talked  it  over  unceasingly,  and  commented 
on  Lander's  attitude.  "  He  stalks  around  in  defiant 
dignity  and  makes  everybody  uncomfortable,"  they 
said. 

"  Everybody  ought  to  be  uncomfortable,"  Ellton  told 
them  ;  "  everybody  who  believed  the  first  insinuation 
he  heard  ought  to  be  confoundedly  uncomfortable." 
He  resigned  from  the  acting  adjutancy  and  returned  to 
his  troop  duties,  that  Landor,  who  had  relieved  Brew- 
ster  of  most  of  the  routine  duties,  and  who  was  still 
fit  for  the  sick  list  himself,  might  not  be  overburdened. 

So  the  demand  and  the  charges  lay  before  the  de- 
partment commander,  and  there  was  a  lull,  during 
which  Landor  came  upon  further  trouble,  and  worse. 
He  undertook  the  examination  of  the  papers  he  had 
found  in  the  dead  men's  pockets.  They  had  been 
buried  in  earth  for  two  weeks. 

He  found  that  it  had  been  father  and  son  come  from 
the  Eastern  states  in  search  of  the  wealth  that  lay  in 
that  vague  and  prosperous,  if  uneasy,  region  anywhere 
west  of  the  Missouri.  And  among  the  papers  was  a 
letter  addressed  to  Felipa.  Landor  held  it  in  the  flat 


146  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

of  his  hand  and  frowned,  perplexed.  He  knew  that  it 
was  Cairness's  writing.  More  than  once  on  this  last 
scout  he  had  noticed  its  peculiarities.  They  were  un- 
mistakable. Why  was  Cairness  writing  to  Felipa? 
And  why  had  he  not  used  the  mails  ?  The  old,  never 
yet  justified,  distrusts  sprang  broad  awake.  But  yet 
he  was  not  the  man  to  brood  over  them.  He  remem- 
bered immediately  that  Felipa  had  never  lied  to  him. 
And  she  would  not  now.  So  he  took  the  stained  letter 
and  went  to  find  her. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  room,  sewing.  Of  late  she 
had  become  domesticated,  and  she  was  fading  under  it. 
He  had  seen  it  already,  and  he  saw  it  more  plainly  than 
ever  just  now.  She  looked  up  and  smiled.  Her  smile 
had  always  been  one  of  her  greatest  charms,  because 
it  was  rare  and  very  sweet.  "  Jack,"  she  greeted  him, 
"what  have  you  done  with  the  bread  knife  you  took 
with  you,  dear  ?  I  have  been  lost  without  it." 

"  I  have  it,"  he  said  shortly,  standing  beside  her  and 
holding  out  the  letter. 

She  took  it  and  looked  from  it  to  him,  questioningly. 
"  What  is  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

Then  it  was  the  first,  at  any  rate.  His  manner  soft- 
ened. 

"  It  smells  horribly,"  she  exclaimed,  dropping  it  on 
the  floor,  "it  smells  of  hospitals  —  disinfectants."  But 
she  stooped  and  picked  it  up  again. 

"It  is  from  Cairness,"  said  Landor,  watching  her 
narrowly.  Her  hand  shook,  and  he  saw  it. 

"  From  Cairness  ?  "  she  faltered,  looking  up  at  him 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  147 

with  frightened  eyes ;  "  when  did  it  come  ? "  Her 
voice  was  as  unsteady  as  her  hands.  She  tore  it  open 
and  began  to  read  it  there  before  him.  He  stood  and 
watched  her  lips  quiver  and  grow  gray  and  fall  help- 
lessly open.  If  she  had  been  under  physical  torture, 
she  could  have  kept  them  pressed  together,  but  not 
now. 

"  Where  did  you  —  "  she  began  ;  but  her  voice  failed, 
and  she  had  to  begin  again.  "  Where  did  you  get 
this?" 

He  told  her,  and  she  held  it  out  to  him.  He  started 
to  take  it,  then  pushed  it  away. 

She  put  down  her  work  and  rose  slowly  to  her 
feet  before  him.  She  could  be  very  regal  sometimes. 
Brewster  knew  it,  and  Cairness  guessed  it ;  but  it  was 
the  first  time  it  had  come  within  Lander's  experience, 
and  he  was  a  little  awed. 

"  I  wish  you  to  read  it,  John,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  hesitated  still.     "  I  don't  doubt  you,"  he  told  her. 

"  You  do  doubt  me.  If  you  did  not,  it  would  never 
occur  to  you  to  deny  it.  You  doubt  me  now,  and  you 
will  doubt  me  still  more  if  you  don't  read  it.  In  justice 
to  me  you  must." 

It  was  very  short,  but  he  held  it  a  long  time  before 
he  gave  it  back. 

"  And  do  you  care  for  him,  too  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
her  straight  in  the  eyes.  It  was  a  very  calm  question, 
put  —  he  realized  it  with  exasperation  —  as  a  father 
might  have  put  it. 

She  told  him  that  she   did,  quite   as  calmly.     Her 


148  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

manner  and  her  tone  said  it  was  very  unfortunate,  that 
the  whole  episode  was  unfortunate,  but  that  it  was  not 
her  fault. 

He  went  over  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out 
of  it,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back.  Some  chil- 
dren were  playing  tag  around  the  flag-staff,  and  he 
watched  a  long-limbed  small  daughter  of  the  frontier 
dodging  and  running,  and  was  conscious  of  being  glad 
that  she  touched  the  goal. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Felipa  that  she  forgot  him 
altogether  and  reread  the  letter,  her  breath  coming  in 
audible  gasps. 

"I  give  this  to  a  friend,"  it  ran,  "to  be  delivered 
into  your  own  hands,  because  I  must  tell  you  that, 
though  I  should  never  see  you  again  —  for  the  life  I 
lead  is  hazardous,  and  chance  may  at  any  time  take 
you  away  forever  —  I  shall  love  you  always.  You  will 
not  be  angry  with  me,  I  know.  You  were  not  that 
night  by  the  campfire,  and  it  is  not  the  unwaveringly 
good  woman  who  resents  being  told  she  is  loved,  in  the 
spirit  I  have  said  it  to  you.  I  do  not  ask  for  so  much 
as  your  friendship  in  return,  but  only  that  you  re- 
member that  my  life  and  devotion  are  yours,  and  that, 
should  the  time  ever  come  that  you  need  me,  you  send 
for  me.  I  will  come.  I  will  never  say  this  to  you 
again,  even  should  I  see  you  ;  but  it  is  true,  now  and 
for  all  time." 

Landor  turned  away  from  the  window  and  looked  at 
her.  It  was  in  human  nature  that  she  had  never  seemed 
so  beautiful  before.  Perhaps  it  was,  too,  because  there 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  149 

was  warmth  in  her  face,  the  stress  of  life  that  was  more 
than  physical,  at  last. 

It  struck  him  that  he  was  coolly  analytical  while  his 
wife  was  reading  the  love-letter  (if  that  bald  statement 
of  fact  could  be  called  a  love-letter)  of  another  man, 
and  telling  him  frankly  that  she  returned  the  man's 
love.  Why  could  not  he  have  had  love,  he  who  had 
done  so  much  for  her  ?  There  was  always  the  subcon- 
sciousness  of  that  sacrifice.  He  had  magnified  it  a  little, 
too,  and  it  is  difficult  to  be  altogether  lovable  when  one's 
mental  attitude  is  "see  what  a  good  boy  am  I."  But 
he  had  never  reflected  upon  that.  He  went  on  telling 
himself  what  —  in  all  justice  to  him  —  he  had  never 
thrown  up  to  her,  that  his  life  had  been  one  long  de- 
votion to  her ;  rather  as  a  principle  than  as  a  person- 
ality, to  be  sure,  but  then —  And  yet  she  loved  the 
fellow  whom  she  had  not  known  twenty-four  hours  in 
all  —  a  private,  a  government  scout,  unnoticeably  below 
her  in  station.  In  station,  to  be  sure ;  but  not  in  birth, 
after  all.  It  was  that  again.  He  was  always  brought 
up  face  to  face  with  her  birth.  He  tried  to  reason  it 
down,  for  the  hundredth  time.  It  was  not  her  fault, 
and  he  had  taken  her  knowingly,  chancing  that  and 
the  consequences  of  her  not  loving  him.  And  these 
were  the  consequences  :  that  she  was  sitting  rigid  be- 
fore him,  staring  straight  ahead  with  the  pale  eyes  of 
suffering,  and  breathing  through  trembling  lips. 

But  she  would  die  before  she  would  be  faithless  to 
him.  He  was  sure  of  that.  Only  —  why  should  he 
exact  so  much  ?  Why  should  he  not  make  the  last  of 


150  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

a  long  score  of  sacrifices  ?  He  had  been  unselfish  with 
her  always,  from  the  day  he  had  found  the  little  child, 
shy  as  one  of  the  timid  fawns  in  the  woods  of  the  reser- 
vation, and  pretty  in  a  wild  way,  until  now  when  she 
sat  there  in  front  of  him,  a  woman,  and  his  wife,  loving, 
and  beloved  of,  another  man. 

He  went  and  stood  beside  her  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  hair. 

She  looked  up  and  tried  hard  to  smile  again. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  he  said  kindly.  He  could  not 
help  it  that  they  were  the  words  of  a  compassionate 
friend,  rather  than  of  an  injured  husband. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  the  first  you  have  known 
of  it,  Jack,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  have  known  it  for  a  long 
while,  and  I  have  not  been  unhappy." 

"  And  you  care  for  him  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Are  you  certain  of  it  ?  You  have  seen  so  very  little 
of  him,  and  you  may  be  mistaken." 

If  he  had  had  any  hope,  it  vanished  before  her  unhesi- 
tating, positive,  "  No  ;  I  am  not  mistaken.  Oh,  no  ! " 

He  took  a  chair  facing  her,  as  she  put  the  letter  back 
in  its  envelope  and  laid  it  in  her  work-basket.  It  was 
very  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  imagined  concerning 
situations  of  the  sort.  But  then  he  was  not  imagina- 
tive. "  Should  you  be  glad  to  be  free  to  marry  him  ?  " 
he  asked,  in  a  spirit  of  unbiassed  discussion. 

She  looked  at  him  in  perplexity  and  surprise.  "  How 
could  I  be  ?  There  is  no  use  talking  about  it." 

He   hesitated,  then  blurted  it  out,  in  spite  of  the 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  151 

inward  warning  that  it  would  be  unwise.  "  I  could 
let  you  free  yourself." 

His  glance  fell  before  hers  of  dismay,  disapproval, 
and  anger  —  an  anger  so  righteous  that  he  felt  himself 
to  be  altogether  in  the  wrong.  "  Do  you  mean  divorce?" 
She  said  it  like  an  unholy  word. 

He  had  forgotten  that  the  laws  and  rites  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  had  a  powerful  hold  upon  her,  though 
she  was  quite  devoid  of  religious  sentiment.  He 
admitted  apologetically  that  he  had  meant  divorce,  and 
she  expressed  her  reproach.  In  spite  of  himself  and 
what  he  felt  ought  properly  to  be  the  tragedy  of  the 
affair,  he  smiled.  The  humor  of  her  majestic  disap- 
proval was  irresistible  under  the  circumstances.  But 
she  had  little  sense  of  humor.  "  What  would  you  sug- 
gest, then,  if  I  may  ask  ?  "  he  said.  He  had  to  give  up 
all  pathos  in  the  light  of  her  deadly  simplicity. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered ;  "  I  can't  see  why  it  should 
make  any  difference  to  you,  when  it  hasn't  with  me." 
She  had  altogether  regained  the  self-possession  she 
had  been  surprised  out  of,  with  an  added  note  of 
reserve. 

And  so  he  had  to  accept  it.  He  rose,  with  a  slight 
sigh,  and  returned  to  the  examination  of  his  spoils. 

But  when  he  was  away  from  Felipa  and  her  blight- 
ing matter  of  fact,  the  pathos  of  it  came  uppermost 
again.  Troubles  seemed  to  thicken  around  him.  His 
voluntary  Coventry  was  making  him  sensitive.  He 
had  thought  that  his  wife  was  at  least  giving  him  the 
best  of  her  cool  nature.  Cool  !  There  was  no  cold- 


152  THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST 

ness  in  that  strained  white  face,  as  she  read  the  letter. 
The  control  she  had  over  herself  !  It  was  admirable. 
He  thought  that  most  women  would  have  fainted,  or 
have  grown  hysterical,  or  have  made  a  scene  of  some 
sort.  Then  he  recalled  the  stoicism  of  the  Apache  — 
and  was  back  at  her  birth  again. 

He  realized  for  the  first  time  the  injury  his  thought 
of  it  did  her.  It  was  that  which  had  kept  them 
apart,  no  doubt,  and  the  sympathy  of  lawlessness  that 
had  drawn  her  and  Cairness  together.  Yet  he  had 
just  begun  to  flatter  himself  that  he  was  eradicat- 
ing the  savage.  She  had  been  gratifyingly  like  other 
women  since  his  return.  But  it  was  as  Brewster  had 
said,  after  all,  — the  Apache  strain  was  abhorrent  to  him 
as  the  venom  of  a  snake.  Yet  he  was  fond  of  Felipa, 
too. 

Someway  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to  be  any  more 
angry  with  Cairness  than  he  had  been  with  her.  The 
most  he  felt  was  resentful  jealousy.  There  was  noth- 
ing more  underhand  about  the  man  than  there  was 
about  Felipa.  Sending  the  note  by  the  prospectors 
had  not  been  underhand.  He  understood  that  it  had 
been  done  only  that  it  might  make  no  trouble  for  her, 
and  give  himself  no  needless  pain.  Cairness  would 
have  been  willing  to  admit  to  his  face  that  he  loved 
Felipa.  That  letter  must  have  been  written  in  his 
own  camp. 

He  heard  his  wife  coming  down  the  stairs,  and 
directly  she  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  Will  you  let  me 
have  that  knife,  Jack  dear  ?  "  she  asked  amiably. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  153 

He  turned  his  chair  and  studied  her  in  a  kind  of 
hopeless  amusement.  "  Felipa,"  he  said,  "  if  you  will 
insist  upon  being  told,  I  cut  open  the  pockets  of  those 
dead  men's  clothes  with  it." 

"  But  I  can  have  it  cleaned,"  she  said. 

He  turned  back  abruptly.  "  You  had  better  get 
another.  You  can't  have  that  one,"  he  answered. 

Was  it  possible  that  twenty  minutes  before  he  had 
risen  to  the  histrionic  pitch  of  self-sacrifice  of  offering 
her  her  freedom  to  marry  another  man  ? 


XII 

IT  was  unfortunate  for  Landor,  as  most  things  seemed 
to  be  just  then,  that  the  Department  Commander  hap- 
pened to  have  an  old  score  to  settle.  It  resulted  in  the 
charges  preferred  by  Brewster  being  given  precedence 
over  the  request  for  a  court  of  inquiry.  The  Depart- 
ment Commander  was  a  man  of  military  knowledge, 
and  he  foresaw  that  the  stigma  of  having  been  court- 
martialled  for  cowardice  would  cling  to  Landor  through 
all  his  future  career,  whatever  the  findings  of  the  court 
might  be.  An  officer  is  in  the  position  of  the  wife 
of  Caesar,  and  it  is  better  for  him,  much  better,  that 
the  charge  of  "  unsoldierly  and  unofficer-like  conduct, 
in  violation  of  the  sixty-first  article  of  war,"  should 
never  come  up  against  him,  however  unfounded  it 
may  be. 

It  was  a  very  poor  case,  indeed,  that  Brewster  made 
out,  despite  a  formidable  array  of  specifications.  As  it 
progressed,  the  situation  took  on  a  certain  ludicrous- 
ness.  The  tale  of  woe  was  so  very  trivial ;  it  seemed 
hardly  worth  the  trouble  of  convening  twelve  officers 
from  the  four  corners  of  the  Department  to  hear  it. 
And  there  was  about  Brewster,  as  he  progressed,  a  sug- 
gestion of  dragging  one  foot  after  the  other,  leaving 
out  a  word  here,  overlooking  an  occurrence  there,  cut- 

154 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  155 

ting  off  a  mile  in  one  place,  and  tacking  on  an  hour  in 
another. 

Landor's  wrath  was  mighty,  but  he  smiled  as  he  sat 
balancing  a  ruler  on  his  fingers  and  hearing  how  the 
citizens  of  San  Tomaso,  eager  to  avenge  their  wrongs, 
had  met  him  at  early  morning,  had  gone  bravely  for- 
ward, keen  on  the  scent,  had  implored  him  to  hasten, 
while  he  halted  on  worthless  pretexts,  and  had,  towards 
evening,  reluctantly  left  a  hot  trail,  going  from  it  at 
right  angles,  "and  camping,"  said  Brewster,  regretfully, 
"  as  far  away  as  it  was  possible  to  get,  considering  the 
halts." 

At  one  moment  it  appeared  that  Landor  had  given 
his  command  into  the  hands  of  the  citizens,  at  another 
that  he  had  flatly  refused  to  follow  them  into  danger, 
that  he  had  threatened  and  hung  back  by  turns,  and 
had,  in  short,  made  himself  the  laughing-stock  of 
civilians  and  enlisted  men,  by  what  Brewster  called 
"  his  timid  subterfuges." 

Yet  somehow  "  timid  subterfuges "  seemed  hardly 
the  words  to  fit  with  the  hard,  unswerving  eye  and  the 
deep-lined  face  of  the  accused.  It  struck  the  court  so. 
There  were  other  things  that  struck  the  court,  notably 
that  Brewster  had  criticised  his  captain  to  civilians  and 
to  enlisted  men.  The  Judge  Advocate  frowned.  The 
frown  settled  to  a  permanency  when  Brewster  sought 
out  that  honorable  personage  to  complain,  unofficially, 
that  his  case  was  being  neglected.  It  was  about  upon 
a  par  with  an  accusation  of  bribery  against  a  supreme 
judge  in  civil  life,  and  naturally  did  not  do  the  plain- 


156  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

tiff  much  good  when  the  Judge  Advocate  rose,  terrible 
in  his  indignation,  to  repeat  the  complaint  officially  to 
the  assembled  court  at  the  next  sitting.  The  court 
was  resentful.  It  listened  and  weighed  for  six  days, 
and  then  it  acquitted  Landor  on  every  charge  and 
specification  "  most  honorably,"  to  make  it  more 
strong,  and  afterward  went  over,  in  a  body,  to  his 
quarters,  to  congratulate  him.  The  rest  of  the  post 
followed. 

Landor  was  in  the  dining  room,  and  Felipa  stood  in 
the  sitting  room  receiving  the  praises  of  her  husband 
with  much  tact.  If  he  were  the  hero  of  the  hour,  she 
was  the  heroine.  The  officers  from  far  posts  carried 
their  admiration  to  extravagance,  bewitched  by  the 
sphinx-riddle  written  somehow  on  her  fair  face,  and 
which  is  the  most  potent  and  bewildering  charm  a 
woman  can  possess.  When  they  went  away,  they  sent 
her  boxes  of  fresh  tomatoes  and  celery  and  lemons, 
from  points  along  the  railroad,  which  was  a  highly 
acceptable  and  altogether  delicate  attention  in  the  day 
and  place. 

The  garrison  gave  a  hop  in  her  honor  and  Lander's. 
It  was  quite  an  affair,  as  many  as  five  and  thirty  souls 
being  present,  and  it  was  written  up  in  the  Army  and 
Navy  afterward.  The  correspondent  went  into  many 
adjectives  over  Mrs.  Landor,  and  her  fame  spread 
through  the  land. 

Brewster  stood  in  his  own  window,  quite  alone,  and 
watched  them  all  crowding  down  to  Landor's  quarters. 
The  beauty  of  the  Triumph  of  Virtue  did  not  appeal  to 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  157 

him.  He  was  very  uneasy.  Countercharges  were  looming 
on  his  view.  To  be  sure,  he  had  not  lied,  not  absolutely 
and  in  so  many  words,  but  his  citizen  witnesses  had  not 
been  so  adroit  or  so  careful.  It  would  not  have  taken 
much  to  make  out  a  very  fair  case  of  conduct  unbecom- 
ing an  officer  and  a  gentleman.  Practical  working  texts, 
anent  looking  before  leaping,  and  being  sure  you  are 
right  ere  going  ahead,  occurred  to  him  with  new  force. 
His  morality  at  the  moment  was  worthy  the  law  and 
the  prophets.  He  was  Experience  in  person,  and  as 
such  would  have  been  an  invaluable  teacher,  if  there 
had  been  any  seeking  instruction.  But  there  was 
none.  They  were  all  with  Landor,  drinking  his  wine 
and  helping  success  succeed,  than  which  one  may  find 
less  pleasant  occupations. 

Yet  there  came  a  rap  at  his  door  directly.  It  was 
the  McLane's  striker,  bearing  a  note  from  Miss  McLane. 
Brewster  knew  what  was  in  it  before  he  opened  it. 
But  he  went  back  to  the  window  and  read  it  by  the 
fading  light.  When  he  looked  up  it  was  to  see  Miss 
McLane  and  Ellton  going  up  the  walk  together,  return- 
ing from  Lander's  house. 

And  at  another  window  Felipa  also  stood  looking 
out  into  the  dusk.  There  had  been  a  shower  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  clouds  it  had  left  behind  were  like  a 
soft  moss  of  fire  floating  in  the  sky.  A  bright  golden 
light  struck  slantwise  from  the  sunset.  They  had  all 
gone  away  to  dine  and  to  dress  for  the  hop  ;  Landor 
had  walked  down  to  the  post  trader's  for  the  mail,  and 
she  was  left  alone. 


158  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNKEST 

She  watched  the  figure  of  a  man  coming  down  the 
line.  Because  of  the  dazzling,  low  light  behind  him, 
the  outline  was  blurred  in  a  shimmer.  At  first  she 
thought  without  any  interest  in  it,  one  way  or  another, 
that  he  was  a  soldier,  then  she  could  see  that  he  was  in 
citizen's  clothes  and  wore  a  sombrero  and  top  boots. 
Even  with  that,  until  he  was  almost  in  front  of  the 
house,  she  did  not  realize  that  it  was  Cairness,  though 
she  knew  well  enough  that  he  was  in  the  post,  and  had 
been  one  of  Landor's  most  valuable  witnesses.  He  had 
remained  to  hear  the  findings,  but  she  had  kept  close 
to  the  house  and  had  not  seen  him  before.  He  was  a 
government  scout,  a  cow-boy,  a  prospector,  reputed  a 
squaw-man,  anything  vagrant  and  unsettled,  and  so  the 
most  he  might  do  was  to  turn  his  head  as  he  passed  by, 
and  looking  up  at  the  windows,  bow  gravely  to  the 
woman  standing  dark  against  the  firelight  within. 

The  blaze  of  glory  had  gone  suddenly  from  the 
clouds,  leaving  them  lifeless  gray,  when  she  turned  her 
eyes  back  to  them  ;  and  the  outlook  across  the  parade 
ground  was  very  bare.  She  went  and  stood  by  the  fire, 
leaning  her  arm  on  the  mantel-shelf  and  setting  her 
determined  lips. 

Three  weeks  later  she  left  the  post  and  the  West. 
Landor's  health  was  broken  from  the  effects  of  the 
poisonweed  and  the  manifold  troubles  of  the  months 
past.  In  lieu  of  sick  leave,  he  was  given  a  desirable 
detail,  and  sent  on  to  Washington,  and  for  a  year  and 
a  half  he  saw  his  wife  fitted  into  a  woman's  seemly 
sphere.  She  was  heralded  as  a  beauty,  and  made  much 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  159 

of  as  such,  and  the  little  vanities  that  had  rarely  shown 
before  came  to  the  surface  now.  He  was  proud  of  her. 
Sought  after  and  admired,  clothed  in  purple  and  scarlet 
and  fine  linen,  within  the  limits  of  a  captain's  pay, 
a  creature  of  ultra-civilization,  tamed,  she  was  a  very 
charming  woman  indeed.  There  seemed  to  be  no  hint 
of  the  Apache  left.  He  all  but  forgot  it  himself. 
There  was  but  one  relapse  in  all  the  time,  and  it 
chanced  that  he  had  no  knowledge  of  that. 

Yet,  in  the  midst  of  her  little  triumph,  Felipa  fell  ill, 
failing  without  apparent  cause,  and  then  the  uneasiness 
that  had  only  slept  in  Landor  for  eighteen  months  came 
awake  again.  He  did  not  believe  when  the  doctors 
told  him  that  it  was  the  lassitude  of  the  moist,  warm 
springtime  which  was  making  the  gray  circles  about 
her  eyes,  the  listlessness  of  her  movements. 

When  she  lay,  one  day,  with  her  face,  too  white  and 
sharp,  looking  out  from  the  tangle  of  hair  upon  the 
pillow,  he  asked  her  almost  abruptly  if  she  had  rather 
go  back  to  the  West.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to 
ask  if  she  were  longing  to  be  near  Cairness.  He  shrank 
too  much  from  her  frank,  unhesitating  assent. 

The  face  on  the  pillow  lighted  quickly,  and  she 
put  out  her  hand  to  him  impulsively.  "  Could  we  go 
back,  Jack,  even  before  the  detail  is  up  ? "  she  said. 
And  yet  her  life  of  late  had  surely  been  one  that  women 
would  have  thought  enviable  —  most  women. 

He  himself  had  never  dreamed  how  it  irked  her  until 
now.  It  was  many  years  since  he  had  been  in  the 
East,  not,  indeed,  since  Felipa  had  been  a  small  child. 


160  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

Keeping  his  promise  to  Cabot,  as  he  understood  it,  had 
left  him  little  for  such  pleasures  as  that.  But  he  had 
done  his  duty  then  ;  he  would  do  it  again,  and  reap 
once  more  what  seemed  to  him  the  inevitable  reward, 
the  reward  which  had  been  his  all  through  his  life,  — 
sheer  disappointment,  in  all  he  prized  most,  ashes 
and  dust. 

"  I  can  throw  up  the  detail,"  he  said  indifferently,  "  I 
dare  say  I  might  as  well.  There  is  only  half  a  year 
more  of  it.  Some  one  will  be  glad  enough  to  take 
that." 

"  But  you,"  said  Felipa,  wistfully,  "  you  do  not  want 
to  go  back  ?  " 

For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  straight  into  her 
eyes,  yet  neither  read  the  other's  thoughts.  Then  he 
turned  away  with  a  baffled  half  laugh.  "  Why  should 
it  matter  to  me  ?  "  he  asked. 


XIII 

CAIENESS  rode  at  a  walk  round  and  round  the  crowd- 
ing, snorting,  restless  herd  of  cattle  that  was  gathered 
together  in  the  pocket  of  the  foot-hills  under  the  night 
sky.  There  were  five  other  cow-boys  who  also  rode 
round  and  round,  but  they  were  each  several  hundred 
yards  apart,  and  he  was,  to  all  intents,  alone.  Now  and 
then  he  quickened  the  gait  of  his  bronco  and  headed  off 
some  long-horned  steer  or  heifer,  that  forced  itself  out 
of  the  huddled,  dark  mass,  making  a  break  for  freedom. 
But  for  the  most  part  he  rode  heavily,  lopsided  in  his 
saddle,  resting  both  hands  on  the  high  pommel.  He 
had  had  time  to  unlearn  the  neat  horsemanship  of  the 
service,  and  to  fall  into  the  slouchy  manner  of  the  cow- 
boy, skilful  but  unscientific.  It  was  a  pitchy  night,  in 
spite  of  the  stars,  but  in  the  distance,  far  off  across  the 
velvety  roll  of  the  hills,  there  was  a  forest  fire  on 
the  top  of  a  range  of  mountains.  It  glowed  against  the 
sky  and  lighted  the  pocket  and  the  prairie  below,  mak- 
ing strange  shadows  among  the  cattle,  or  bringing  into 
shining  relief  here  and  there  a  pair  of  mighty  horns. 
A  wind,  dry  and  hot,  blew  down  from  the  flames,  and 
made  the  herd  uneasy. 

Not  far  from  where  those  flames  were  licking  up  into 
the  heavens,  Cairness  thought  as  he  watched  them,  had 
M  161 


162  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

been  the  Circle  K  Ranch.  In  among  the  herd,  even 
now,  were  Circle  K  cattle  that  had  not  yet  been  cut 
out.  Those  six  people  of  his  own  race  had  been  all  that 
was  left  to  him  of  his  youth.  To  be  sure,  he  had  seen 
little  of  them,  but  he  had  known  that  they  were  there, 
ready  to  receive  him  in  the  name  of  the  home  they  had 
all  left  behind. 

And  since  that  gray  dawn  when  he  had  picked  his 
way  through  the  ashes  and  charred  logs,  and  had  bent 
over  the  bodies  of  his  friend  and  the  dead  mother  and 
the  two  children,  he  had  been  possessed  by  a  loathing 
that  was  almost  physical  repulsion  for  all  Indians. 
That  was  why  he  had  left  the  stone  cabin  he  had  built 
for  himself  in  the  White  Mountains,  forsaking  it  and 
the  Apaches  who  had  been,  in  a  way,  his  friends.  But 
he  had  done  it,  too,  with  the  feeling  that  now  he  had 
nowhere  to  lay  his  head  ;  that  he  was  driven  from  pillar 
to  post,  buffeted  and  chased  ;  that  he  was  cursed  with 
the  curse  of  the  wanderer.  If  it  had  not  been  that  he 
had  an  indefinite  theory  of  his  own  concerning  the 
Kirby  massacre,  as  it  was  known  throughout  the  coun- 
try, and  that  he  meant  to,  some  day,  in  some  way, 
avenge  it  upon  the  whites  who  had  abandoned  them  to 
their  fate,  he  would  have  killed  himself.  He  had  been 
very  near  it  once,  and  had  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk 
in  the  cabin  with  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  thinking  it  all 
out  for  an  entire  evening,  before  deciding  dispassionately 
against  it.  He  was  not  desperate,  merely  utterly  care- 
less of  life,  which  is  much  worse.  Desperation  is  at  the 
most  the  keen  agony  of  torture  at  the  stake ;  but  indif- 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  163 

ference  toward  all  that  is  held  by  this  world,  or  the 
next,  is  dying  in  a  gradual  vacuum. 

He  believed  that  he  had  no  ties  now,  that  friend- 
ships, the  love  of  woman,  and  the  kiss  of  children  all 
had  missed  him,  and  that  his,  thenceforth,  must  be  but 
vain  regret.  So  far  as  he  knew,  Felipa  had  gone  away 
without  ever  having  received  his  letter.  The  man  he 
had  intrusted  it  to  had  been  killed  in  the  Aravaypa 
Canon  :  that  he  was  certain  of ;  and  it  never  entered 
his  head  that  his  papers  might  have  fallen  into  other 
hands,  and  the  note  have  finally  been  delivered  to  her. 
She  was  leading  the  sort  of  life  that  would  most 
quickly  put  him  entirely  out  of  her  mind.  He  was 
taking  the  Washington  papers,  and  he  knew.  She  had 
gone  away,  not  even  sure  that  he  had  given  her  a 
thought  since  the  night  in  the  Sierra  Blanca  when 
Black  River  had  roared  through  the  stillness,  and  they 
had  been  alone  in  all  the  wild  world.  What  a  weird, 
mysterious,  unearthly  scene  it  had  been,  quite  out- 
side the  probabilities  of  anything  he  had  imagined  or 
contemplated  for  a  single  minute.  He  had  never 
regretted  it,  though.  He  believed  in  impulses,  par- 
ticularly his  own. 

Two  steers,  locking  their  horns,  broke  from  the  herd 
and  swaying  an  instant  so,  separated  and  started  side 
by  side  across  the  prairie.  He  settled  in  his  saddle 
and  put  his  cow-pony  to  a  run,  without  any  prelimi- 
nary gait,  going  in  a  wide  circle  to  head  them  back. 
Running  across  the  ground,  thick  with  coyote  and  dog 
holes,  was  decidedly  perilous ;  men  had  their  necks 


164  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

broken  in  that  way  every  few  days  ;  but  it  would  not 
have  mattered  to  him  especially  to  have  ended  so. 
Wherefore  he  did  not,  but  drove  the  steers  back  to  the 
herd  safely.  And  then  he  returned  to  the  monotonous 
sentry  work  and  continued  thinking  of  himself. 

What  had  he  done  with  four  and  thirty  years,  put- 
ting it  at  the  very  highest  valuation  ?  He  had  sunk  so 
far  below  the  standard  of  his  youth  that  he  would  not 
be  fit  for  his  old  companions,  even  if  he  had  wanted  to 
go  back  to  them,  which,  except  in  certain  fits  of  depres- 
sion, he  did  not.  His  own  mother  cared  very  little 
what  became  of  him.  At  Christmas  time  she  always 
sent  him  a  letter,  which  reached  him  much  later,  as  a 
rule,  and  he  answered  it.  His  brothers  had  forgotten 
him.  His  sister,  of  whom  he  had  been  very  fond  once, 
and  for  whom  he  had  hoped  a  great  deal,  had  married 
well  enough  and  gone  to  London  ;  but  she,  too,  had 
forgotten  him  long  since. 

So  much  for  his  past.  As  for  his  present.  His  only 
friends  were  treacherous  savages  and  some  few  settlers 
and  cow-boys.  They  would  none  of  them  miss  him  if 
he  were  to  be  laid  under  a  pile  of  stones  with  a  board 
cross  at  his  head  anywhere  by  the  roadside,  in  the 
plains  or  among  the  hills.  Some  of  them  were  honest 
men,  some  were  desperadoes  ;  none  were  his  equals,  not 
one  understood  the  things  that  meant  life  to  him.  He 
had  no  abode,  not  so  much  as  the  coyote  over  there  on 
the  top  of  the  little  swell.  He  made  his  living  in 
divers  and  uncertain  ways.  Sometimes  he  sent  pic- 
tures to  the  East,  studies  of  the  things  about  him. 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  165 

They  sold  well.  Sometimes  he  was  a  scout  or  a  guide. 
Sometimes  he  prospected  and  located  claims  with  more 
or  less  good  luck.  Sometimes  he  hired  himself  out  as 
a  cow-boy  at  round-ups,  as  he  was  doing  now.  On  the 
whole,  he  was,  from  the  financial  standpoint,  more  of  a 
success  than  from  any  other. 

Also  he  was  in  love  with  the  wife  of  a  man  he  liked 
and  respected —  and  who  trusted  him.  Yet  in  spite  of 
that,  he  had  come  near  —  so  near  that  it  made  him 
cold  to  think  about  it  —  to  following  in  the  way  of 
many  frontiersmen  and  marrying  a  Mexican.  It  had 
been  when  he  had  first  learned  that  Felipa  Landor  had 
gone  East  for  two  years  ;  and  the  Mexican  had  been 
very  young  and  very  pretty,  also  very  bad. 

It  was  not  a  nice  outlook.  But  he  found  it  did  not 
grow  any  better  for  the  thought  that  Felipa  might 
have  forgotten  all  about  him,  though  that  would 
unquestionably  have  been  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  happened  for  all  concerned,  from  the  standpoint 
of  common  sense.  But  there  were  two  chances,  of  a 
sort,  that  made  it  worth  while  worrying  along.  One 
was  that  Felipa  might  some  day,  in  the  working  out 
of  things,  come  into  his  life.  The  other  was  that  he 
could  ferret  out  the  truth  of  the  Kirby  massacre. 
Love  and  revenge  are  mighty  stimulants. 

As  for  the  Kirby  affair,  there  had  been  no  hint  of 
treachery  in  the  published  or  verbal  accounts  of  it. 
The  ranch  hands  who  had  escaped  had  told  a  plain 
enough  tale  of  having  fled  at  the  approach  of  the  Ind- 
ians, vainly  imploring  the  Kirbys  to  do  the  same.  It 


166  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

seemed  that  the  most  they  could  be  accused  of  was 
cowardice.  It  had  all  been  set  forth  in  the  papers 
with  much  circumstance  and  detail.  But  Cairness 
doubted.  He  remembered  their  dogged  ugliness,  and 
that  of  the  raw-boned  Texan  woman. 

That  very  day  the  doubt  had  attained  the  propor- 
tions of  a  certainty.  The  sight  of  a  Circle  K  cow  had 
called  up  the  subject  of  the  massacre,  and  a  cow-boy 
had  said,  "  Them  are  the  property  of  Bill  Lawton,  I 
reckon." 

Cairness  asked  who  Bill  Lawton  might  be,  and  was 
told  that  he  had  been  one  of  the  Kirby  men,  "  Big  fel- 
low with  a  big  wife.  If  you  was  ever  there,  you'd 
ought  to  remember  her.  She  was  a  Venus  and  a  Cleo- 
patrer  rolled  into  one,  you  bet."  The  cow-boy  was  not 
devoid  of  lore  for  all  his  lowly  station. 

Cairness  did  remember,  but  he  did  not  see  fit  to  say 
so. 

A  half  dozen  cow-boys  came  riding  over  from  the 
camp  of  the  outfit  to  relieve  those  on  duty.  Cairness 
was  worn  out  with  close  on  eighteen  hours  in  the  sad- 
dle, tearing  and  darting  over  the  hills  and  ravines, 
quick  as  the  shadow  from  some  buzzard  high  in  the 
sky,  scrambling  over  rocks,  cutting,  wheeling,  chasing 
after  fleet-footed,  scrawny  cattle.  He  went  back  to 
camp,  and  without  so  much  as  washing  the  caked  dust 
and  sweat  from  his  face,  rolled  himself  in  a  blanket 
and  slept. 

The  round-up  lasted  several  days  longer,  and  then 
the  men  were  paid  off,  and  went  their  way.  The  way 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  167 

of  most  was  toward  Tombstone,  because  the  opportu- 
nities for  a  spree  were  particularly  fine  there.  Not 
because  of  these,  but  because  the  little  parson  lived 
there  now,  Cairness  went  also.  Moreover,  it  was  as 
good  a  place  as  another  to  learn  more  about  the  massa- 
cre. Cow-boys  coming  from  other  round-ups  and  get- 
ting drunk  might  talk. 

The  famous  mining  town  was  two  years  old.  It  had 
ceased  to  be  a  "  wind  city  "  or  even  a  canvas  one,  and 
was  settling  down  to  the  dignity  of  adobe,  or  even 
boards,  having  come  to  stay.  But  it  was  far  too  new, 
too  American,  to  have  any  of  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
Mexican  settlements  of  the  country. 

Cairness  tied  his  cow-pony  to  a  post  in  front  of  a  low 
calcimined  adobe,  and  going  across  the  patch  of  trodden 
earth  knocked  at  the  door.  The  little  parson's  own  high 
voice  called  to  him,  and  he  went  in. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  was  tipped  back  in  his  chair 
with  his  feet  upon  the  table,  reading  the  Tucson  papers. 
He  sprang  up  and  put  out  his  hand  in  a  delighted  wel- 
come, his  small  face  turning  into  a  very  chart  of  smiling 
seams  and  wrinkles. 

But  his  left  hand  hung  misshapen,  and  Cairness  saw 
that  it  did  not  bend  at  the  wrist  as  he  motioned  to  an 
empty  soda-pop  bottle  and  a  glass  on  the  table  beside  a 
saucer  of  fly-paper  and  water.  "That's  what  I  still 
take,  you  see,"  he  said,  "but  I'll  serve  you  better;"  and 
he  opened  a  drawer  and  brought  out  a  big  flask.  "  I 
reckon  you've  got  a  thirst  on  you  this  hot  weather." 
He  treated  himself  to  a  second  bottle  of  the  pop,  and 


168  THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST 

grew  loquacious,  as  another  man  might  have  under  the 
influence  of  stronger  drink ;  and  he  talked  so  much 
about  himself  and  so  little  about  his  guest  that  Cair- 
ness  wondered.  Presently  the  reason  made  itself  mani- 
fest. It  was  the  egotism  of  the  lover.  The  Reverend 
Taylor  was  going  to  be  married.  He  told  Cairness 
so  with  an  expression  of  beatitude  that  answered  to  a 
blush,  and  pointed  to  a  photograph  on  his  mantel-shelf. 
"  She  ain't  so  pretty  to  look  at,"  he  confided,  which  was 
undoubtedly  true,  "  nor  yet  so  young.  But  I  ain't  nei- 
ther, 'sfar  as  that  goes.  She's  amiable.  That's  the  great 
thing  after  all,  for  a  wife.  She's  amiable." 

Cairness  congratulated  him  with  all  solemnity,  and 
asked  if  she  were  a  widow.  He  was  sure  she  must  be, 
for  the  gallantry  of  the  "West  in  those  days  allowed  no 
woman  to  pass  maturity  unwed. 

But  she  was,  it  appeared,  a  maiden  lady,  straight  from 
Virginia.  The  Reverend  Taylor  was  the  first  man  she 
had  ever  loved.  "It  was  right  funny  how  it  come 
about,"  he  confided,  self  absorbed  still.  "  Her  mother 
keeps  the  res'rant  acrost  the  street  where  I  take  my 
meals  (I  used  to  have  a  Greaser  woman,  but  I  got 
sick  oifrijoles  and  gorditas  and  chili  and  all  that  stuff), 
and  after  dinner  every  afternoon,  she  and  me  would  put 
two  saucers  of  fly-paper  on  a  table  and  we  would  set  and 
bet  on  which  would  catch  the  most  flies  before  four 
o'clock.  You  ain't  no  idea  how  interestin'  it  got  to  be. 
The  way  we  watched  them  flies  was  certainly  intense. 
Sometimes,  I  tell  you,  she'd  get  that  excited  she'd 
scream  when  they  couldn't  make  up  their  minds  to 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  169 

light.  Once  her  mother  come  runnin'  in,  thinkin'  I 
was  tryin'  to  kiss  her."  He  beamed  upon  Cairness, 
and  accepted  congratulations  charmingly,  sipping  his 
soda-pop  with  quite  a  rakish  little  air.  "  What  brought 
you  here  ?  "  he  remembered  to  ask,  at  length. 

Cairness  told  him  that  he  had  been  in  the  3  C 
round-up,  and  then  went  on  to  his  point.  "  Taylor, 
see  here.  I  want  to  find  out  more  about  the  Kirby 
massacre.  There  is  more  to  that  than  has  appeared  in 
print." 

The  minister  nodded  his  head.  "Yes,  I  reckon 
there  is,"  he  agreed. 

"You  remember  that  woman,"  Cairness  went  on, 
making  and  rolling  adroitly  a  straw-paper  cigarette, 
"  the  one  who  was  cook  on  the  ranch  for  so  long  ? 
She  could  tell  us  what  it  is,  and  I'll  bet  on  it." 

The  Reverend  Taylor  nodded  again.  "  Reckon  she 
could.  But  — "  he  grabbed  at  a  fly  with  one  hand, 
and  caught  and  crushed  it  in  his  palm  with  much  dex- 
terity, "  but  —  she's  lit  out." 

"  So  ?  "  said  Cairness,  with  the  appearance  of  stolid- 
ity he  invariably  assumed  to  cover  disappointment  or 
any  sort  of  approach  to  emotion.  "  Where's  she  gone 
to?" 

Taylor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Quien  sale  f  Can't 
prove  it  by  me.  Just  vamoosed.  Fell  in  love  with  a 
little  terrier  of  a  Greaser  half  her  size,  and  cleaned 
out.  Lawton  was  in  here  a  day  or  two  ago,  lookin' 
for  her  and  raisin'  particular  Cain  with  whiskey  and 
six-shooters  —  bawlin'  about  her  all  over  the  place." 


170  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

"  Is  he  here  now  ?  " 

He  had  gone  back. 

Cairness  made  another  cigarette  and  considered. 
"  I  think  I'll  hire  to  him,"  he  said,  after  a  while. 

"  Hire  to  him  !  "  exclaimed  Taylor,  "  what  for  ?  " 

"For  the  fun  of  it,  and  'found.'  Can  you  give  me 
a  recommendation  ?  " 

The  parson  said  that  he  could  not.  "  Lawton  ain't 
any  use  for  me.  I  guess  it's  because  he  remembers  me, 
that's  why.  He'll  remember  you,  too." 

"No,"  said  Cairness,  "he  won't.  I've  met  him  since. 
That  was  a  long  time  ago,  and  I  was  smooth  shaven." 

Taylor  smiled.  Cairness's  small,  brown  mustache, 
curving  up  at  the  ends,  was  hardly  a  disguise. 
*'  There's  a  fellow  here  who  could  get  you  the  job, 
though,"  he  suggested.  "  Fellow  named  Stone.  News- 
paper man,  used  to  be  in  Tucson.  He  seems  to  have 
some  sort  of  pull  with  that  Lawton  fellow." 

"  I  know  him,"  Cairness  said ;  "  he  used  to  be  round 
San  Carlos  when  I  was  an  enlisted  man.  He  won't 
remember  me,  either.  And  you  needn't  necessarily 
mention  that  I  was  with  Landor  in  the  San  Tomaso 
affair,  or  that  I  was  a  scout.  He  may  know  it,  of 
course.  And  again,  he  may  not." 

He  got  up  and  went  to  the  window,  which  was  iron- 
barred,  after  the  Mexican  fashion,  and  stood,  with  his 
hands  run  into  his  belt,  looking  down  at  a  row  of 
struggling,  scraggly  geraniums  in  tin  cans.  They 
were  the  most  disheartening  part  of  the  whole  dis- 
heartening prospect,  within  or  without. 


THE   HERITAGE  OP   UNREST  171 

The  Reverend  Taylor  got  his  hat.  It  was  still  a 
silk  one,  but  new,  and  without  holes.  They  went  over 
to  the  false  front  board  structure  which  was  Stone's 
office.  It  appeared  from  the  newspaper  man's  greeting 
that  it  was  a  case  of  the  meeting  of  prominent  citizens. 
Taylor  presented  Cairness,  with  the  elegant,  rhetorical 
flourishes  he  was  capable  of  when  he  chose.  "  He  is  a 
friend  of  mine,"  he  added,  "  and  anything  that  you  can 
do  for  him  will  be  appreciated,  you  sabe  ?  —  "  Stone 
did  understand,  and  Taylor  left  them  alone  together. 

They  opened  upon  non-committal  topics:  the  weather, 
which  had  been  scorching  and  parched  since  April,  and 
would  continue  so,  in  all  probability,  until  September ; 
the  consequent  condition  of  the  crops,  which  was  a 
figure  of  speech,  for  there  were  none,  and  never  had 
been,  deserving  of  the  name  ;  and  then  Cairness,  hav- 
ing plenty  of  time,  brought  it  round  to  the  troops.  In 
the  tirade  that  followed  he  recognized  a  good  many  of 
the  sentiments,  verbatim,  of  the  articles  in  the  Tucson 
papers  of  the  time  of  Lander's  scout.  But  he  half 
shut  his  eyes  and  listened,  pulling  at  the  small,  brown 
mustache.  Stone  set  him  down,  straightway,  as  an 
ass,  or  English,  which  was  much  the  same  thing. 

Cairness  was  still  in  his  dust-grayed  outfit,  his  hair 
was  below  where  his  collar  would  have  been  had  he 
been  wearing  one,  and  his  nose  was  on  its  way  to  at 
least  the  twentieth  new  skin  that  summer.  In  all  his 
years  of  the  frontier,  he  had  never  become  too  well 
tanned  to  burn.  His  appearance  was  not  altogether 
reassuring,  Stone  thought.  He  was  not  only  an  ass,  he 


172  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

was  also  tough  —  the  sort  of  a  fellow  with  whom  it  was 
as  well  to  remember  that  your  six-shooter  is  beneath 
the  last  copy  of  your  paper,  on  the  desk  at  your  elbow. 

"  I  have  never  especially  liked  you,"  Cairness  de- 
cided, for  his  part,  "  and  I  can't  say  that  you  improve 
upon  acquaintance,  you  know.  You  wrote  those  arti- 
cles about  Landor,  and  that's  one  I  owe  you." 

Stone  wore  his  oratory  out  after  a  time,  and  Cairness 
closed  his  eyes  rather  more,  to  the  end  that  he  might 
look  a  yet  greater  ass,  and  said  that  he  wanted  to  hire 
out  as  a  cow-boy  or  ranch  hand  of  some  sort.  "  Taylor 
told  me  you  knew  a  fellow  named  Lawton,  I  think  it 
was.  Would  he  be  wanting  one  now  ?  "  He  took  con- 
siderable satisfaction  in  his  own  histrionic  ability,  and 
lapsed  into  the  phraseology  of  the  job-hunter. 

Stone  thought  not.  He  had  not  heard  Lawton  speak 
of  needing  help.  But  he  wrote  a  very  guarded  note  of 
recommendation,  falling  back  into  the  editorial  habit, 
and  dashing  it  off  under  pressure.  Cairness,  whose 
own  writing  was  tiny  and  clear  and  black,  and  who 
covered  whole  sheets  without  apparent  labor,  but  with 
lightning  rapidity,  watched  and  reflected  that  he  spent 
an  amount  of  time  on  the  flourish  of  his  signature  that 
might  have  been  employed  to  advantage  in  the  attain- 
ment of  legibility. 

"  I'm  a  busy  man,"  said  Stone,  "  a  very  busy  man, 
the  busiest  man  in  the  territory." 

No  one  in  the  territory  was  busy.  The  atmosphere 
was  still  too  much  that  of  the  Mexican  possession  ;  but 
Cairness  said  it  was  undoubtedly  so,  and  took  his  leave, 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNEEST  173 

clanking  his  spurs,  heavy  footed,  and  stooping  his  long 
form,  in  continuance  of  the  role  of  ass.  He  knew  well 
enough  that  he  had  been  so  summed  up.  It  is  a  dis- 
advantage the  British  citizen  labors  under  in  the  West. 

The  next  day  he  left  for  the  Circle  K  Ranch.  Lawton 
did  not  appear  to  need  help.  But  he  fired  a  Greaser, 
nevertheless,  and  took  Cairness  on.  He  seemed  to 
stand  in  as  abject  awe  of  Stone's  note  as  an  Arab 
might  have  stood  of  a  bit  of  the  black  covering  of  the 
Kaabah  stone. 

And  Cairness  stayed  with  him,  serving  seven  months, 
and  seeking  what  he  might  discover.  But  he  discov- 
ered nothing  more  than  that  the  Circle  K  Ranch,  for  all 
that  it  might  be  the  Texan's  in  name,  was  Stone's  in 
point  of  fact,  and  that  Lawton's  dread  of  that  mighty 
man  was  very  much  greater  than  his  hope  of  heaven. 

The  knowledge  was  slight  and  of  no  plain  value  ; 
but  it  might  be  of  use  some  day.  Life  had  taught 
Cairness,  amongst  other  things,  that  it  usually  proved 
so.  He  stored  it  away  with  the  other  gleanings  of 
experience  in  his  mental  barns,  and  went  in  search  of 
new  adventures. 


XIV 

THE  chief  Alcliise  and  a  half  hundred  of  his  kind  — 
one  so  deaf  that  he  held  to  his  savage  old  ear  a  civilized 
speaking-trumpet  —  squatted  about  on  the  ground,  and 
explained  to  Crook  the  nature  of  their  wrongs. 

"  We  were  planting  our  own  corn  and  melons,"  said 
Alchise,  "and  making  our  own  living.  The  agent  at 
San  Carlos  never  gave  us  any  rations,  but  we  didn't 
mind  about  that.  We  were  taking  care  of  ourselves. 
One  day  the  agent  —  "  He  stopped  and  scowled  at  a 
squaw  a  few  yards  away,  whose  papoose  was  crying 
lustily.  The  squaw,  having  her  attention  thus  called 
to  the  uproar  of  her  offspring,  drew  from  somewhere  in 
the  folds  of  her  dirty  wrappings  a  nursing-bottle,  and 
putting  the  nipple  in  its  mouth,  hushed  its  cries.  The 
chief  went  on  :  "  One  day  the  agent  sent  up  and  said 
that  we  must  give  up  our  own  country  and  our  corn 
patches,  and  go  down  there  to  the  Agency  to  live.  He 
sent  Indian  soldiers  to  seize  our  women  and  children, 
and  drive  us  down  to  the  hot  land." 

He  was  a  simple,  sullen  Apache,  and  his  untutored 
mind  could  only  grasp  effects.  Causes  were  beyond  it. 
He  did  not,  therefore,  understand  that  coal  had  been 
discovered  on  his  reservation,  also  silver,  and  that  the 
agent  and  the  agent's  friends  were  trying  to  possess 

174 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  175 

themselves  of  the  land  in  order  to  dispose  of  it  to  the 
Eastern  capitalist. 

He  knew  that  his  cattle  were  driven  off  by  the  white 
cow-boys  and  could  not  be  gotten  back,  that  he  was 
given  but  one  cup  of  flour  every  seven  days,  that  beef 
was  so  difficult  to  obtain  that  it  practically  formed  no 
part  of  his  diet ;  but  he  did  not  know  of  the  "boys '"in 
Tucson  and  officials  in  Washington  who  were  profiting 
from  the  sale  of  Indian  supplies  to  white  squatters. 

He  knew  that  the  stores  which  should  have  gone  to 
him  were  loaded  upon  wagon-trains  and  hurried  off 
the  reservation  in  the  dead  of  night ;  but  he  did  not 
know  why  the  Apache  who  was  sent  to  humbly  ask  the 
agent  about  it  was  put  in  the  guard-house  for  six 
months  without  trial.  He  knew  that  his  corn  patches 
were  trampled  down,  but  not  that  it  was  to  force  him 
to  purchase  supplies  from  the  agent  and  his  friends,  or 
else  get  out.  He  knew  that  his  reservation  —  none 
too  large,  as  it  was,  for  three  thousand  adults  more  or 
less  —  had  been  cut  down  without  his  consent  five  dif- 
ferent times,  and  that  Mormon  settlers  were  elbowing 
him  out  of  what  space  remained.  But,  being  only  a 
savage,  it  were  foolish  to  expect  that  he  should  have 
seen  the  reason  for  these  things.  He  has  not  yet 
learned  to  take  kindly  to  financial  dishonesty.  Does 
he  owe  you  two  bits,  he  will  travel  two  hundred  miles 
to  pay  it.  He  has  still  much  to  absorb  concerning 
civilization. 

Another  thing  he  could  not  quite  fathom  was  why 
the  religious  dances  he  had,  in  pursuance  of  his  wild 


176  THE  HEKITAGE   OF  UNREST 

pleasure,  seen  fit  to  hold  on  Cibicu  Creek,  had  been 
interfered  with  by  the  troops.  To  be  sure,  the  dances 
had  been  devised  by  his  medicine  men  to  raise  the 
dead  chiefs  and  braves  with  the  end  in  view  of  re- 
peopling  the  world  with  Apaches  and  driving  out  the 
Whites.  But  as  the  dead  had  not  consented  to  the 
raising,  it  might  have  been  as  well  to  allow  the  Ind- 
ians to  become  convinced  of  the  futility  of  it  in  that 
way.  However,  the  government  thought  otherwise, 
and  sent  its  troops. 

Because  they  were  sent,  a  fine  officer  had  fallen  vic- 
tim to  Apache  treachery  of  the  meanest  sort  and  to 
the  gross  stupidity  of  others,  and  Arizona  was  on  the 
verge  of  the  worst  disorder  of  all  its  disorderly  history. 
So  Crook  was  sent  for,  and  he  came  at  once,  and  looked 
with  his  small,  piercing  eyes,  and  listened  with  his  ears 
so  sharp  to  catch  the  ring  of  untruth,  and  learned  a 
pretty  tale  of  what  had  gone  on  during  his  absence 
on  the  troubled  northern  plains. 

A  great  many  delightful  facts,  illustrative  of  the 
rule  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  in  for  gain,  came  to  his  knowl- 
edge. There  were  good  men  and  just  in  Arizona,  and 
some  of  these  composed  the  Federal  Grand  Jury,  which 
reported  on  the  condition  of  affairs  at  the  Agency. 
When  a  territorial  citizen  had  anything  to  say  in  favor 
of  the  Redskin,  it  might  be  accepted  as  true.  And 
these  jurymen  said  that  the  happenings  on  the  San 
Carlos  Agency  had  been  a  disgrace  to  the  age  and  a 
foul  blot  upon  the  national  escutcheon.  They  waxed 
very  wroth  and  scathing  as  they  dwelt  upon  how  the 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  177 

agent's  vast  power  made  almost  any  crime  possible. 
There  was  no  check  upon  his  conduct,  nor  upon  the 
wealth  he  could  steal  from  a  blind  government ;  and  to 
him,  and  such  as  him,  they  attributed  the  desolation 
and  bloodshed  which  had  dotted  the  plains  with  the 
graves  of  murdered  victims.  It  was  the  rather  unavail- 
ing wail  of  the  honest  citizen  caught  between  the  upper 
and  nether  millstones  of  the  politician  and  the  hostile. 

Crook  had  been  recalled  too  late,  and  he  knew  it. 
Every  Apache  on  the  reservation  was  ready  for  the 
war-path.  It  was  not  to  be  averted.  One  man,  even 
a  very  firm  and  deft  one,  could  not  straighten  out  in  a 
few  weeks  the  muddle  of  ten  years  of  thievery,  oppres- 
sion, and  goading.  It  takes  more  than  just  a  promise, 
even  though  it  is  one  likely  to  be  kept,  to  soothe  the 
hurt  feelings  of  savages  who  have  seen  eleven  of  their 
friends  jailed  for  fourteen  months  without  the  form  of 
accusation  or  trial.  They  feel  bitter  toward  the  gov- 
ernment whose  minions  do  those  things. 

The  new  general  was  hailed  by  the  territories  as 
deliverer  until  he  found  the  truth  and  told  it,  after 
which  they  called  him  all  manner  of  hard  names,  for 
that  is  the  sure  reward  of  the  seeker  after  fact.  He 
prepared  for  war,  seeing  how  things  were,  but  he  tried 
for  peace  the  while.  He  sent  to  the  bucks  who  lurked 
in  the  fastnesses  and  strongholds,  and  said  that  he 
was  going  out  alone  to  see  them.  He  left  his  troops 
and  pack-train,  and  with  two  interpreters  and  two 
officers  repaired  to  the  canon  of  the  Black  River, 
where  he  scrambled  and  slid,  leading  his  scrambling, 


178  THE  HBEITAGE   OF   UNREST 

sliding  mule  down  the  precipices  of  basalt  and  lava 
among  the  pines  and  junipers. 

Bright,  black  eyes  peered  down  from  crevasses  and 
branches.  An  Apache  lurked  behind  every  boulder 
and  trunk.  But  only  the  squaws  and  the  children  and 
twenty -six  bucks  in  war  toilet,  naked  from  shoulder 
to  waist,  painted  with  blood  and  mescal,  rings  in  their 
noses,  and  heads  caked  thick  with  mud,  came  down  to 
the  conference. 

It  was  not  of  much  avail  in  the  end,  the  conference. 
There  was  more  than  one  tribe  to  be  pacified.  The 
restlessness  of  the  wild  things,  of  the  goaded,  and  of 
the  spring  was  in  their  blood. 

The  last  straw  was  laid  on  when  an  Indian  policeman 
arrested  a  young  buck  for  some  small  offence.  The 
buck  tried  to  run  away,  and  would  not  halt  when  he 
was  told  to.  The  chief  of  police  fired  and  killed  a 
squaw  by  mistake ;  and  though  he  was  properly  sorry 
for  it,  and  expressed  his  regret,  the  relatives  and  friends 
of  the  deceased  squaw  caught  him  a  few  days  later, 
and  cutting  off  his  head,  kicked  it  round,  as  they  had 
seen  the  White-eye  soldier  do  with  his  rubber  foot-ball. 
Then  they,  aroused  and  afraid  too  of  punishment,  fled 
from  the  reservation  and  began  to  kill. 

It  was  a  halcyon  time  for  the  press.  It  approved 
and  it  disapproved,  while  the  troops  went  serenely  on 
their  way.  It  gave  the  government  two  courses,  —  re- 
moval of  the  Apaches,  one  and  all,  to  the  Indian  terri- 
tory (as  feasible  as  driving  the  oxen  of  Geryon),  or 
extermination  —  the  catchword  of  the  non-combatant. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  179 

The  government  took  neither  course. 

There  was  but  one  other  resort.  The  exasperated, 
impotent  press  turned  to  it.  "  If  the  emergency  should 
arise,  and  it  now  looks  as  though  it  may  come  soon," 
flowed  the  editorial  ink,  "enough  resolute  and  coura- 
geous men  can  be  mustered  in  Tombstone,  Globe, 
Tucson,  and  other  towns  and  settlements  to  settle  the 
question,  once  and  forever  :  to  settle  it  as  such  questions 
have  often  been  settled  before." 

In  pursuance  of  which  the  resolute  and  courageous 
men  arose  at  the  cry  of  their  bleeding  land.  They 
have  gone  down  to  history  (to  such  history  as  deigns 
to  concern  itself  with  the  reclaiming  of  the  plains  of 
the  wilderness,  in  area  an  empire  of  itself)  as  the 
Tombstone  Toughs. 

The  exceedingly  small  respectable  element  of  Tomb- 
stone hailed  their  departure  with  unmixed  joy.  They 
had  but  one  wish,  —  that  the  Toughs  might  meet  the 
Apaches,  and  that  each  might  rid  the  face  of  the  desert 
of  the  other.  But  the  only  Apaches  left  to  meet  were 
the  old  and  feeble,  and  the  squaws  and  papooses  left  at 
San  Carlos.  The  able-bodied  bucks  were  all  in  the 
field,  as  scouts  or  hostiles. 

The  resolute  and  courageous  men,  led  by  a  resolute 
and  courageous  saloon-keeper,  found  one  old  Indian 
living  at  peace  upon  his  rancheria.  They  fired  at 
him  and  ran  away.  The  women  and  children  of  the 
settlers  were  left  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  anger  of 
the  Apaches.  It  was  too  much  for  even  the  Tucson 
journalist.  He  turned  from  denunciation  of  the  mili- 


180  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

tary,  for  one  moment,  and  applied  his  vigorous  adjec- 
tives to  the  Tombstone  Toughs. 

Arizona  had  its  full  share  of  murder  and  sudden 
death.  But  New  Mexico  had  more  than  that.  Spring 
passed  on  there,  with  warmth  for  the  snow-wrapped 
mountains,  and  blistering  heat  for  the  dead  plains, 
and  her  way  was  marked  with  lifeless  and  mutilated 
forms. 

Lander's  troop  was  stationed  at  Stanton,  high  up 
among  the  hills.  It  had  come  there  from  another  post 
down  in  the  southern  part  of  the  territory,  where  any- 
thing above  the  hundreds  is  average  temperature,  and 
had  struck  a  blizzard  on  its  march. 

Once  when  Felipa  got  out  of  the  ambulance  to 
tramp  beside  it,  in  the  stinging  snow  whirls,  and  to 
start  the  thin  blood  in  her  veins,  she  had  looked 
up  into  his  blanket-swathed  face,  and  laughed.  "  I 
wonder  if  you  looked  like  that  when  you  took  me 
through  this  part  of  the  world  twenty  years  ago," 
she  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  knew  that  he  was 
annoyed.  She  had  come  to  see  that  he  was  always 
annoyed  by  such  references,  and  she  made  them  more 
frequent  for  that  very  reason,  half  in  perversity,  half 
in  a  fixed  determination  not  to  be  ashamed  of  her 
origin,  for  she  felt,  without  quite  realizing  it,  that  to 
come  to  have  shame  and  contempt  for  herself  would 
be  to  lose  every  hold  upon  life. 

She  was  happier  than  she  had  been  in  Washington. 
Landor  saw  that,  but  he  refused  to  see  that  she  was 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  181 

also  better.  However  much  a  man  may  admire,  in  the 
abstract,  woman  as  a  fine  natural  animal,  unspoiled  by 
social  pettiness,  he  does  not  fancy  the  thing  in  his 
wife.  From  the  artistic  standpoint,  a  regal  barbarian, 
unconfined,  with  her  virtue  and  her  vices  on  a  big 
scale,  is  very  well ;  from  the  domestic,  it  is  different. 
She  is  more  suitable  in  the  garb  of  fashion,  with  home- 
made character  of  parlor-ornament  proportions. 

Felipa  had  discarded,  long  since,  the  short  skirt  and 
moccasins  of  her  girlhood,  and  had  displayed  no  in- 
considerable aptitude  in  the  matter  of  fashions ;  but  she 
was  given  to  looseness  of  draperies  and  a  carelessness 
of  attire  in  her  own  home  that  the  picturesqueness 
of  her  beauty  alone  only  saved  from  slatternliness. 
There  was  one  manifestation  of  ill  taste  which  she 
did  not  give,  however,  one  common  enough  with  the 
wives  of  most  of  the  officers.  She  was  never  to  be 
found  running  about  the  post,  or  sitting  upon  the 
porches,  with  her  husband's  cape  around  her  shoulders 
and  his  forage-cap  over  her  eyes.  Her  instinct  for  the 
becoming  was  unfailing.  This  was  a  satisfaction  to 
Landor.  But  it  was  a  secret  grievance  that  she  was 
most  contented  when  in  her  riding  habit,  tearing  fool- 
hardily over  the  country. 

Another  grievance  was  the  Ellton  baby.  Felipa 
adored  it,  and  for  no  reason  that  he  could  formulate, 
he  did  not  wish  her  to.  He  wanted  a  child  of  his 
own.  Altogether  he  was  not  so  easy  to  get  on  with 
as  he  had  been.  She  did  not  see  why.  Being  alto- 
gether sweet-humored  and  cheerful  herself,  she  looked 


182  THE   HERITAGE   OP   UNREST 

for  sweet  humor  and  cheerfulness  in  him,  and  was 
more  and  more  often  disappointed.  Not  that  he  was 
ever  once  guilty  of  even  a  quick  burst  of  ill  temper. 
It  would  have  been  a  relief. 

Sometimes  when  she  was  quite  certain  of  being 
undisturbed,  she  took  Cairness's  one  letter  from  the 
desk,  and  read  and  reread  it,  and  went  over  every 
word  and  look  she  had  had  from  him.  She  had  for- 
gotten nothing,  but  though  her  olive  skin  would  burn 
and  then  grow  more  colorless  than  ever  when  she 
allowed  herself  to  recall,  not  even  a  sigh  would  come 
from  between  the  lips  that  had  grown  a  very  little  set. 

Yet  she  not  only  loved  Cairness  as  much  as  ever, 
but  more.  Her  church  had  the  strong  hold  of  super- 
stition upon  her,  but  she  might  have  thrown  it  off, 
grown  reckless  of  enforced  conventions,  and  have  gone 
to  him,  had  not  faithfulness  and  gratitude  held  her  yet 
more  powerfully. 

Landor  had  been  good  to  her.  She  would  have  gone 
through  anything  rather  than  have  hurt  him.  And 
yet  it  was  always  a  relief  now  when  he  went  away. 
She  was  glad  when  he  was  ordered  into  the  field  at  the 
beginning  of  the  spring.  Of  old  she  had  been  suffi- 
ciently sorry  to  have  him  go.  But  of  old  she  had  not 
felt  the  bit  galling. 

Life  went  on  very  much  the  same  at  the  post  when 
there  was  only  the  infantry  left  in  possession.  As 
there  was  nothing  to  do  at  any  time,  there  was  nothing 
the  less  for  that.  On  the  principle  that  loneliness  is 
greatest  in  a  crowd,  Stanton  was  more  isolated  now 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  183 

than  Grant  had  been  in  the  days  when  there  had  been 
no  railroad  west  of  Kansas.  The  railroad  was  through 
the  southwest  now,  but  it  was  a  hundred  miles  away. 
It  was  unsafe  to  ride  outside  the  reservation,  there  was 
no  one  for  hops,  the  only  excitement  was  the  daily 
addition  to  the  list  of  slaughtered  settlers.  Felipa 
spent  most  of  her  time  with  the  Ellton  baby.  Miss 
McLane  had  been  married  to  Landor's  second  lieuten- 
ant for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  they  were  very  happy. 
But  Felipa  in  the  knowledge  of  the  strength  of  her 
own  love,  which  gained  new  might  each  time  that  she 
wrestled  with  it  and  threw  it  back  upon  the  solid 
ground  of  duty,  found  their  affection  decidedly  insipid. 
Like  the  majority  of  marital  attachments,  it  had  no 
especial  dignity.  It  was  neither  the  steadfast  friend- 
ship she  felt  for  her  husband,  nor  the  absolute  devotion 
she  would  have  given  Cairness. 

But  the  baby  was  satisfactory.  She  amused  it  by 
the  hour.  For  the  rest,  being  far  from  gregarious,  and 
in  no  way  given  to  spending  all  the  morning  on  some 
one  else's  front  porch,  and  all  the  afternoon  with  some 
one  else  upon  her  own,  she  drew  on  the  post  library 
and  read,  or  else  sat  and  watched  the  mountains  with 
their  sharp,  changing  shadows  by  day,  and  their  Indian 
signal  flashes  by  night,  —  which  did  not  tend  to  enhance 
the  small  degree  of  popularity  she  enjoyed  among  the 
post  women. 

Some  thirty  miles  to  the  southeast  was  the  Mescalero 
Indian  Agency.  Landor  had  consented  with  the  worst 
possible  grace  to  take  her  there  sometime  when  the 


184  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNKEST 

road  should  be  passable  and  safe.  She  had  openly 
resented  his  disinclination,  though  she  usually  appeared 
not  to  notice  it.  "  It  is  very  natural  I  should  want  to 
see  the  place  where  I  was  born,"  she  had  said,  "  and 
I  think  we  should  both  be  more  comfortable  if  you 
would  not  persist  in  being  so  ashamed  of  it." 

The  story  of  her  origin  was  an  open  secret  now. 
Landor  had  never  been  able  to  discover  who  had  spread 
it.  The  probabilities  were,  however,  that  it  had  been 
Brewster.  He  had  been  suspended  for  a  year  after 
Lander's  trial,  and  driven  forth  with  contempt,  but  he 
was  back  again,  with  a  bold  front,  and  insinuating  and 
toadying  himself  into  public  favor,  destined  by  that 
Providence  which  sometimes  arouses  itself  to  reward 
and  punish  before  the  sight  of  all  men,  to  be  short- 
lived. 


XV 

LANDOB  sat  at  the  centre  table  and  went  over  requisi- 
tion blanks  by  the  light  of  a  green-shaded  student  lamp. 
The  reflection  made  him  look  livid  and  aging.  Felipa 
had  noticed  it,  and  then  she  had  turned  to  the  fire  and 
sat  watching,  with  her  soft  eyes  half  closed,  the  little 
sputtering  sparks  from  the  mesquite  knot.  She  had 
been  immovable  in  that  one  position  for  at  least  an 
hour,  her  hands  folded  with  a  weary  looseness  in  her 
lap.  If  it  had  not  been  that  her  face  was  very  hard  to 
read,  even  her  husband  might  have  guessed  that  she 
was  sad.  But  he  was  not  thinking  about  her.  He 
went  on  examining  the  papers  until  some  one  came 
upon  the  front  porch  and  knocked  at  the  door.  Then 
he  got  up  and  went  out. 

It  was  the  post-trader,  he  told  Felipa  when  he  came 
back,  and  he  was  asking  for  help  from  the  officer-of-the- 
day.  Some  citizens  down  at  the  store  were  gambling 
and  drinking  high,  and  were  becoming  uproarious. 

Landor  sent  for  a  squad  of  the  guard  and  went  to  put 
them  out.  It  was  just  one  of  the  small  emergencies 
that  go  to  make  up  the  chances  of  peace.  He  might  or 
he  might  not  come  back  alive  ;  the  probabilities  in 
favor  of  the  former,  to  be  sure.  But  the  risks  are 

185 


186  THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

about  equal  whether  one  fights  Indians  or  citizens 
drunk  with  liquor  and  gaming. 

The  men  went  away,  however,  without  much  trouble 
beyond  tipsy  protests  and  mutterings,  and  the  sutler 
rewarded  the  guard  with  beer,  and  explained  to  Landor 
that  several  of  the  disturbers  were  fellows  who  were 
hanging  round  the  post  for  the  beef  contract ;  the  big- 
gest and  most  belligerent  —  he  of  the  fierce,  drooping 
mustachios — was  the  owner  of  the  ranch  where  the 
Kirby  massacre  had  taken  place,  as  well  as  of  another 
one  in  New  Mexico. 

Landor  paid  very  little  attention  just  then,  but  that 
same  night  he  had  occasion  to  think  of  it  again. 

It  was  his  habit  to  go  to  bed  directly  after  taps  when 
he  was  officer-of-the-day,  and  to  visit  the  guard  imme- 
diately before  reveille  the  next  morning.  But  the 
requisitions  and  some  troop  papers  kept  him  until 
almost  twelve,  so  that  he  decided  to  make  his  rounds 
as  soon  as  the  clock  had  struck  twelve,  and  to  sleep 
until  sunrise.  Felipa  had  long  since  gone  off  to  bed. 
He  turned  down  the  lamp,  put  on  his  cape  and  cap,  and 
with  his  revolver  in  his  pocket  and  his  sabre  clicking  a 
monotonous  accompaniment  went  out  into  the  night. 

It  was  not  very  dark.  The  sky  was  thick  with 
clouds,  but  there  was  a  waning  moon  behind  them. 
The  only  light  in  the  garrison  was  in  the  grated 
windows  of  the  guard-house. 

Visiting  the  guard  is  dull  work,  and  precisely  the 
same  round,  night  after  night,  with  hardly  ever  a 
variation.  But  to-night  there  occurred  a  slight  one. 


THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  187 

Landor  was  carrying  his  sabre  in  his  arm,  as  he  went 
by  the  back  of  the  quarters,  in  order  that  its  jingle 
might  not  disturb  any  sleepers.  For  the  same  reason 
he  walked  lightly,  although,  indeed,  he  was  usually 
soft-footed,  and  came  unheard  back  of  Brewster's 
yard.  Brewster  himself  was  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  fence,  talking  to  some  man.  Landor  could  see 
that  it  was  a  big  fellow,  and  the  first  thing  that  flashed 
into  his  mind,  without  any  especial  reason,  was  that  it 
was  the  rancher  who  had  been  in  trouble  down  at  the 
sutler's  store. 

It  gave  cause  for  reflection ;  but  an  officer  was 
obviously  at  liberty  to  talk  to  whomsoever  he  might 
choose  around  his  own  premises,  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  or  night.  So  the  officer  of  the  day  went  on, 
treading  quietly.  But  he  had  something  to  think 
about  now  that  kept  off  drowsiness  for  the  rest  of  the 
rounds.  Brewster's  fondness  for  the  society  of  dubi- 
ous civilians  was  certainly  unfortunate.  And  the 
conjunction  of  the  aspiring  beef  contractor  and  the 
commissary  officer  was  also  unfortunate,  not  to  say 
curious.  Because  of  this.  The  beef  contract  was 
about  to  expire,  and  the  commandant  had  advertised 
for  bids.  A  number  of  ranchers  had  already  turned 
their  papers  in.  Furnishing  the  government's  soldiers 
with  meat  is  never  an  empty  honor. 

The  bids,  duly  sealed,  were  given  into  the  keeping  of 
the  commissary  officer  to  be  put  in  his  safe,  and  kept  until 
the  day  of  judgment,  when  all  being  opened  in  public 
and  in  the  presence  of  the  aspirants,  the  lowest  would 


188  THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

get  the  contract.  It  was  a  simple  plan,  and  gave  no 
more  opportunity  for  underhand  work  than  could  be 
avoided.  But  there  were  opportunities  for  all  that. 
It  was  barely  possible  —  the  thing  had  been  done  — 
for  a  commissary  clerk  or  sergeant,  desirous  of  adding 
to  his  pittance  of  pay,  or  of  favoring  a  friend  among 
the  bidders,  to  tamper  with  the  bids.  By  the  same 
token  there  was  no  real  reason  why  the  commissary 
officer  could  not  do  it  himself.  Landor  had  never 
heard,  or  known,  of  such  a  case,  but  undoubtedly  the 
way  was  there.  It  was  a  question  of  having  the  will 
and  the  possession  of  the  safe  keys. 

There  were  only  the  bids  to  be  taken  out  and  steamed 
open.  The  lowest  found,  it  was  simple  enough  for  the 
favored  one  to  make  his  own  a  quarter  of  a  cent  less, 
and  to  turn  it  in  at  the  last  moment.  But  one  draw- 
back presented  itself.  Some  guileful  and  wary  con- 
tractors, making  assurance  twice  sure,  kept  their  bids 
themselves  and  only  presented  them  when  the  officers 
sat  for  the  final  awarding.  Certainly  Brewster  would 
have  been  wiser  not  to  have  been  seen  with  the  big 
civilian.  During  the  two  days  that  elapsed  before  the 
awarding  of  the  contract,  Landor  thought  about  it  most 
of  the  time. 

It  came  to  pass  in  the  working  out  of  things  that  the 
commandant  elected  to  spend  the  night  before  the  open- 
ing of  the  bids',  in  the  small  town  some  miles  away, 
where  one  of  the  first  families  was  giving  a  dinner. 
This  left  Landor,  as  next  in  rank,  in  temporary  com- 
mand. It  had  happened  often  enough  before,  in  one  way 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  189 

or  another,  but  this  time  the  duties  of  the  position  seemed 
to  weigh  upon  him.  He  was  restless  and  did  not  care 
to  sleep.  He  sent  Felipa  off  to  bed,  and  sat  watching 
where  her  lithe  young  figure  had  gone  out  of  the  door 
for  some  minutes.  Then  he  ran  his  hand  across  his 
mouth  contemplatively,  stroked  his  mustache,  and 
finally  went  out  of  the  house  and  down  to  Ellton's 
quarters. 

When  the  baby  began  to  cry,  as  it  was  always  quite 
sure  to  do  sooner  or  later,  and  Mrs.  Ellton  went  up  to 
it,  Landor  spoke.  "  If  I  should  come  for  you  at  any 
hour  to-night,  I  wish  you  would  hold  yourself  in  readi- 
ness to  go  out  with  me  immediately." 

He  was  not  the  sort  of  a  man  of  whom  to  ask  ex- 
planations. Ellton  said  "  Very  well,"  and  proceeded  to 
talk  about  the  troop's  hogs  and  gardens,  both  of  which 
were  a  source  of  increase  to  the  troop  funds. 

Mrs.  Ellton  returned  before  long,  and  Landor  went 
back  home. 

"  I  shall  be  in  and  out  all  night,  more  or  less,"  he  told 
Felipa.  She  reached  her  hands  from  the  bedclothes 
and  stroked  the  deep  lines  on  his  forehead,  the  lines  she 
had  had  most  to  do  with  putting  there.  But  she  did 
not  ask  for  confidences.  She  never  did.  It  was  not 
her  way.  He  kissed  her  and  went  out  into  the  night 
again,  to  sit  upon  his  porch  at  a  spot  where,  through 
the  cottonwood  branches,  he  commanded  a  view  of 
Brewster's  front  door  and  of  the  windows  of  the  com- 
missary office. 

The  silence  of  the  garrison  was  absolute.      Over  in 


190  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

the  company  clerk's  office  of  one  of  the  infantry  bar- 
racks there  was  a  light  for  a  time.  Then,  at  about 
midnight,  it  too  was  put  out.  A  cat  came  creeping 
from  under  the  board  walk  and  minced  across  the  road. 
He  watched  it  absently. 

When  he  looked  up  again  to  Brewster's  house,  there 
was  a  chink  of  faint  light  showing  through  a  curtain. 
He  got  up  then  and  went  down  to  Ellton's  quarters. 

Ellton  himeolf  answered  the  muffled  knock.  "  I  didn't 
turn  in,"  he  said  to  the  mysterious  figure,  shrouded  in 
a  cape,  with  a  visor  down  to  its  peering  eyes. 

Landor  told  him  to  get  his  cap  and  come  out.  He 
followed  the  shadows  of  the  trees  near  the  low  commis- 
sary building,  and  they  stood  there,  each  behind  a  thick 
cottonwood  trunk.  Landor  watched  the  light  in 
Brewster's  window.  It  disappeared  before  long,  and 
they  held  their  breaths.  Ellton  began  to  guess  what 
was  expected  to  happen.  Yet  Brewster  himself  did 
not  come  out. 

Landor  had  almost  decided  that  he  had  made  an  un- 
generous mistake,  when  Ellton  came  over  with  one 
light  spring  and,  touching  him  on  the  shoulder,  pointed 
to  the  window  of  the  commissary  office.  A  thick,  dark 
blanket  had  evidently  been  hung  within,  but  the  faint- 
est red  flicker  showed  through  a  tiny  hole. 

Then  Landor  remembered  for  the  first  time  that  there 
was  a  back  door  to  Brewster's  quarters  and  to  the  com- 
missary. He  crept  over  to  the  commissary  and  tried  the 
door  gently.  It  was  fast  locked.  Then  he  went  to 
the  window.  It  was  a  low  one,  on  a  level  with  his 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  191 

chest,  with  wide-apart  iron  bars.  He  ran  his  hand  be- 
tween them  now,  and,  doubling  his  fist,  broke  a  pane 
with  a  sudden  blow.  As  the  glass  crashed  in,  he  grasped 
the  gray  blanket  and  drew  it  back.  Brewster  was 
standing  in  front  of  the  open  safe,  the  package  of  bids  in 
his  hands,  and  the  big  rancher  was  beside  him  holding  a 
candle  and  shading  it  with  his  palm.  They  had  both 
turned,  and  were  staring,  terror-eyed,  at  the  bleeding 
hand  that  held  back  the  blanket. 

"  Can  you  see,  Ellton  ? "  Landor  asked  in  his  re- 
strained, even  voice.  He  evidently  meant  that  there 
should  be  no  more  noise  about  this  than  necessary,  that 
the  post  should  know  nothing  of  it. 

"  I  can  see,  sir,"  the  lieutenant  answered. 

Then  Landor  spoke  to  the  commissary  officer.  "  You 
will  oblige  me,  Mr.  Brewster,  by  returning  those  bids 
to  the  safe  and  by  opening  the  door  for  me."  He 
dropped  the  blanket,  drew  back  his  cut  hand,  warm 
and  wet  with  blood,  and  wrapped  it  in  a  handkerchief 
very  deliberately,  as  he  waited. 

Presently  the  front  door  opened.  The  commissary 
officer  evidently  had  all  the  keys.  Landor  and  Ellton 
who  were  commandant  and  adjutant  as  well,  went 
through  the  close-smelling  storeroom,  which  reeked 
with  codfish  and  coffee,  into  the  office. 

The  citizen  was  still  there,  still  holding  the  candle 
and  shading  it,  scared  out  of  the  little  wits  he  had  at 
the  best  of  times.  He  was  too  frightened  as  yet  to 
curse  Brewster  and  the  wary  scoundrel  back  in  Arizona, 
who  had  set  him  on  to  tampering  with  the  military, 


192  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

and  had  put  up  the  funds  to  that  end  —  a  small  risk 
for  a  big  gain. 

Landor  pointed  to  him.     "  Who  is  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

Brewster  told  him.  "  It  is  Mr.  Lawton,  of  the  Circle 
K  Ranch." 

"  What  is  he  doing  here  ?  " 

"  He  was  helping  me." 

"  Helping  you  to  do  what  ?  " 

"  To  get  out  the  bids."  His  courage  was  waxing  a 
little. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  "  went  on  the  cross  questions. 

"  To  take  them  over  to  rny  quarters  and  keep  them 
safe." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Landor.  The  inflection  was  not  pleas- 
ing. It  caused  Brewster  to  answer  somewhat  weakly, 
"Yes." 

"  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  you  could  tell  that  to  twelve 
officers  and  make  them  believe  it  ?  " 

Brewster  was  silent,  but  he  neither  flinched  nor 
cowered,  nor  yet  shifted  his  eyes. 

Landor  turned  to  the  citizen.  "  Where  is  your  bid, 
Mr.  Lawton  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  put  it  in  yet,"  he  stammered  feebly. 

"  Don't  put  it  in,  then.  Leave  the  reservation  to- 
night. You  understand  me,  do  you  ?  Now  go  !  " 

Lawton  set  down  the  candle  upon  the  desk,  and 
crept  away  by  the  rear  door. 

After  he  had  gone,  Landor  turned  to  Brewster  once 
more.  "  Are  all  the  bids  in  the  safe  again  ?  " 

They  were. 


THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST  193 

« Is  it  closed  ?  " 

It  was. 

"  Give  me  the  keys  —  all  the  keys." 

He  handed  them  over. 

Ellton  stood  by  the  door,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, and  a  countenance  that  tried  hard  to  maintain  the 
severity  of  discipline.  But  he  was  plainly  enjoying  it. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Brewster,"  said  Landor,  going  to  the  safe 
and  resting  his  elbow  upon  it,  and  leaning  forward  in 
his  earnestness,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  you 
are  to  do.  It  would  be  better  for  the  service  and  for 
all  concerned  if  you  do  it  quietly.  I  think  you  will 
agree  with  me,  that  any  scandal  is  to  be  avoided.  Come 
to  the  opening  of  the  bids  to-morrow,  at  noon,  quite  as 
though  nothing  of  this  disgraceful  sort  had  happened. 
I  will  keep  the  keys  until  then.  But  by  retreat  to- 
morrow evening  I  want  your  resignation  from  the 
service  in  the  hands  of  the  adjutant.  If  it  is  not,  I 
shall  prefer  charges  against  you  the  next  morning. 
But  I  hardly  think  you  will  deem  it  advisable  to  stand 
a  court-martial."  He  stopped  and  stood  erect  again. 

Brewster  started  to  protest,  still  with  the  almost 
unmoved  countenance  of  an  innocent  man.  At  any 
rate,  he  was  not  an  abject,  whining  scoundrel,  thought 
Ellton,  with  a  certain  amount  of  admiration. 

Landor  held  up  a  silencing  hand.  "  If  you  have  any 
explanations  that  you  care  to  make,  that  it  would  be 
worth  any  one's  time  to  listen  to,  you  may  keep  them 
for  a  judge  advocate."  He  pointed  to  the  door. 

Brewster  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  walked  out, 


194  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

a  little  unsteadily.  They  blew  out  the  candle  and 
took  down  the  gray  blanket.  "  A  stone  can  have 
broken  that  pane,  and  I  cut  my  hand  on  a  bottle," 
said  Landor. 

Ellton  answered  "  Very  good,"  and  they  went  out, 
locking  the  door. 


XVI 

THE  contract  went  to  a  needy  and  honest  contractor 
when  the  bids  were  opened.  And  by  night  the  whole 
garrison  was  in  excitement  over  Brewster's  inexplica- 
ble resignation.  It  was  inexplicable,  but  not  unex- 
plained. He  went  around  to  all  the  officers  with  the 
exception  only  of  Landor  and  Ellton,  and  told  that 
he  had  some  time  since  decided  to  give  up  the  service 
and  to  read  and  practise  law  in  Tucson.  No  one  was 
inclined  to  believe  it.  But  no  one  knew  what  to 
believe,  for  Ellton  and  his  captain  held  their  tongues. 
They  left  the  commandant  himself  in  ignorance. 

Brewster  got  hunting  leave,  pending  the  acceptance 
of  his  resignation,  and  went  to  the  railway.  In  less  than 
a  week  he  was  all  but  forgotten  in  a  newer  interest. 

A  raiding  party  of  hostiles  had  passed  near  the  fort, 
and  had  killed,  with  particular  atrocity,  a  family  of 
settlers.  The  man  and  his  wife  had  been  tortured  to 
death,  the  baby  had  had  its  brains  beaten  out  against 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  a  very  young  child  had  been  hung 
by  the  wrist  tendons  to  two  meat  hooks  on  the  walls  of 
the  ranch-house,  and  left  there  to  die.  One  big  boy 
had  had  his  eyelids  and  lips  and  nose  cut  off,  and  had 
been  staked  down  to  the  ground  with  his  remains  of  a 
face  lying  over  a  red-ant  hole.  Only  two  had  man- 

195 


196  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

aged  to  escape,  —  a  child  of  ten,  who  had  carried  his  tiny 
sister  in  his  arms,  twenty  miles  of  canons  and  hills,  to 
the  post. 

Felipa  had  taken  charge  of  the  two,  being  the  only 
woman  in  the  place  not  already  provided  with  children 
of  her  own,  and  had  roused  herself  to  an  amount  of 
capability  her  husband  had  never  suspected  her  of. 
She  belonged  to  the  tribe  of  unoccupied  women,  as  a 
rule,  not  that  she  was  indolent  so  much  as  that  she 
appeared  to  have  no  sense  of  time  nor  of  the  value  of 
it.  Landor,  who  had  always  one  absorbing  interest  or 
another  to  expend  his  whole  energy  upon,  even  if  it 
were  nothing  larger  than  running  the  troop  kitchen, 
thought  her  quite  aimless,  though  he  never  addressed 
that  or  any  other  reproach  to  her.  He  was  contented 
at  the  advent  of  the  hapless  orphans  for  one  thing,  that 
they  superseded  the  Ellton  baby,  which  he  secretly 
detested  with  a  kind  of  unreasonable  jealousy. 

His  contentment  was  not  to  last  for  long,  however. 
The  quartermaster  broke  in  upon  it  rudely  as  he  sat  on 
the  porch  one  morning  after  guard-mounting,  "  Have 
you  seen  the  man  who  came  up  with  the  scouts  from 
Grant?" 

Landor  knew  that  the  scouts  had  come  in  the  after- 
noon before,  and  were  in  camp  across  the  creek  ;  but  he 
had  not  seen  their  chief,  and  he  said  so. 

"  Handsome  fellow,"  went  on  the  quartermaster, 
"  and  looks  like  a  gentleman.  Glories  in  the  Ouida- 
esque  name  of  Charles  Merely  Cairness,  and  signs  it 
in  full." 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  197 

"Sounds  rather  like  a  family  magazine  novel  hero, 
doesn't  it  ?  "  Landor  said,  with  a  hint  of  a  sneer,  then 
repented,  and  added  that  Cairness  had  been  with  him 
as  guide,  and  was  really  a  fine  fellow.  He  turned  his 
eyes  slowly,  without  moving,  and  looked  at  Felipa. 
She  was  sitting  near  them  in  a  patch  of  sun-sifted  shade 
behind  the  madeira  vines,  sewing  on  a  pinafore  for  the 
little  girl  who  was  just  then,  with  her  brother,  crossing 
the  parade  to  the  post  school,  as  school  call  sounded. 
He  knew  well  enough  that  she  must  have  heard,  her 
ears  were  so  preternaturally  sharp.  But  the  only  sign 
she  gave  was  that  her  lips  had  set  a  little.  So  he 
waited  in  considerable  uneasiness  for  what  might  hap- 
pen. He  understood  her  no  more  than  he  had  that 
first  day  he  had  met  her  riding  with  the  troops  from 
Kansas,  when  her  indifferent  manner  had  chilled  him, 
and  it  was  perhaps  because  he  insisted  upon  working 
his  reasoning  from  the  basis  that  her  character  was 
complicated,  whereas  it  was  absolutely  simple.  He  met 
constantly  with  her  with  much  the  same  sort  of  men- 
tal sensation  that  one  has  physically,  where  one  takes  a 
step  in  the  dark,  expecting  a  fall  in  the  ground,  and 
comes  down  upon  a  level.  The  jar  always  bewildered 
him.  He  was  never  sure  what  she  would  do  next, 
though  she  had  never  yet,  save  once,  done  anything 
flagrantly  unwise.  He  dreaded,  however,  the  moment 
when  she  might  chance  to  meet  Cairness  face  to  face. 

Which  happened  upon  the  following  day.  And  he 
was  there  to  see  it  all,  so  that  the  question  he  had  not 
cared  to  ask  was  answered  forever  beyond  the  possibility 


198  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNEEST 

of  a  misunderstanding.  It  was  stable  time,  and  she 
walked  down  to  the  corrals  with  him.  He  left  her  for 
a  moment  by  the  gate  of  the  quartermaster's  corral 
while  he  went  over  to  the  picket  line.  The  bright  clear 
air  of  a  mountain  afternoon  hummed  with  the  swish 
click-clock,  swish  click-clock  of  the  curry-combs  and 
brushes,  and  the  busy  scraping  of  the  stable  brooms  in 
the  stalls. 

Felipa  stood  leaning  against  the  gate  post,  her  bare 
head  outlined  in  bold  black  and  white  against  the  white 
parasol  that  hung  over  her  shoulders.  She  was  watch- 
ing one  of  the  troop  herds  coming  up  from  water,  —  the 
fine,  big  horses,  trotting,  bucking,  rearing,  kicking,  bit- 
ing at  each  other  with  squeals  and  whinnyings,  tossing 
their  manes  and  whisking  their  tails.  Some  of  them 
had  rolled  in  the  creek  bed,  and  then  in  the  dust,  and 
were  caked  with  mud  from  neck  to  croup.  They  frisked 
over  to  their  own  picket  line,  and  got  into  rows  for  the 
grooming. 

She  was  looking  at  them  with  such  absorbed  delight 
that  she  started  violently  when  close  behind  her  a  voice 
she  had  not  heard  in  four  long,  repressed  years  spoke 
with  the  well-remembered  intonation  :  "  He  had  better 
go  to  the  farrier  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  I  can't 
have  him  stove-up,"  and  Cairness  came  out  of  the  gate. 

He  saw  her,  and  without  the  hesitation  of  an  instant 
raised  his  slouch  hat  and  kept  on.  A  government  scout 
does  not  stop  to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  an  officer's 
wife. 

It  would  have  been  best  so,  and  she  knew  it,  had 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  199 

indeed  meant  to  make  it  like  this  on  her  part,  but  a 
feeling  swept  over  her  that  if  they  did  not  speak  now, 
they  would  pass  down  to  their  deaths  in  silence.  She 
reached  out  her  hand  to  stop  him,  and  spoke. 

He  turned  about  and  stood  still,  with  his  head  un- 
covered, looking  straight  into  her  face.  Another  man 
might  have  wished  it  a  little  less  open  and  earnest,  a 
little  more  downcast  and  modest,  but  he  liked  it  so.  Yet 
he  waited,  erect  and  immovable,  and  she  saw  that  he 
meant  that  every  advance  should  come  from  her.  He 
was  determined  to  force  her  to  remember  that  he  was  a 
chief  of  scouts. 

She  waited,  too,  made  silent  by  sudden  realization  of 
how  futile  anything  that  she  might  say  would  be.  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she  faltered  ;  "  it  is  four  years 
since  Black  River  and  the  cloud-burst. "  She  was  angry 
at  her  own  stupidity  and  want  of  resource,  and  her  tone 
was  more  casual  than  she  meant  it  to  be. 

His  own  was  instantly  as  cold.  "  I  supposed  you  had 
quite  forgotten  all  that,"  he  said. 

She  had  done  very  well,  up  to  then,  but  she  was  at 
the  end  of  her  strength.  It  had  been  strained  to  the 
snapping  for  a  long  while,  and  now  it  snapped.  Slowly, 
painfully,  a  hot,  dark  flush  spread  over  her  face  to  the 
black  line  of  her  hair.  The  squaw  was  manifested  in 
the  changed  color.  It  altered  her  whole  face,  while  it 
lasted,  then  it  dropped  back  and  left  a  dead  gray  pallor. 
Her  lips  were  quivering  and  yellow,  and  her  eyes  paled 
oddly,  as  those  of  a  frightened  wild  beast  do.  But 
still  they  were  not  lowered. 


200  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

Cairness  could  not  take  his  own  from  them,  and  they 
stood  so  for  what  seemed  to  them  both  a  dumb  and 
horrible  eternity,  until  Landor  came  up,  and  she  caught 
at  his  arm  to  steady  herself.  The  parasol  whirled  around 
on  its  stick  and  fell.  Cairness  picked  it  up,  knocked 
off  the  dust,  and  handed  it  to  Landor.  He  could  see 
that  he  knew,  and  it  was  a  vast  relief. 

It  is  only  a  feeble  love  in  need  of  stimulants  and  spic- 
ing that  craves  secrecy.  A  strong  one  seeks  the  open 
and  a  chance  to  fight  to  the  end,  whatever  that  may 
be,  before  the  judges  of  earth  and  heaven.  They  stood 
facing  each  other,  challenging  across  the  woman  with 
the  look  in  their  eyes  that  men  have  worn  since  long 
ere  ever  the  warriors  of  old  disputed  the  captive  before 
the  walls  of  Troy. 

It  made  it  none  the  better  that  only  Landor  had  the 
right  to  give  her  the  strength  of  his  arm,  and  that  only 
Cairness  had  the  right  to  the  desperate,  imploring  look 
she  threw  him.  It  was  a  swift  glance  of  a  moment,  and 
then  she  reached  out  a  steady  enough  hand  for  the  para- 
sol, and  smiled.  It  had  been  much  too  tragic  to  last  — 
and  in  those  surroundings.  It  was  a  flash  of  the  naked 
swords  of  pain,  and  then  they  were  sheathed.  But  each 
had  left  a  sharp  gash.  No  one  had  seen  it.  Perhaps  to 
many  there  would  have  been  nothing  to  see. 

Landor  was  the  first  to  find  speech.  In  the  harsh 
light  of  the  pause  he  saw  that  it  was  foolish  as  well  as 
useless  to  beg  the  issue.  "  Has  Mrs.  Landor  told  you 
that  I  found  your  letter  to  her  on  the  body  of  the  pro- 
spector, and  delivered  it  to  her?"  The  words  were 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  201 

sufficiently  overbearing,  but  the  manner  was  unendur- 
able. 

It  occurred  to  Cairness  that  it  was  ungenerous  of  Lan- 
dor  to  revenge  himself  by  a  shot  from  the  safe  intrench- 
ment  of  his  rank.  "  Mrs.  Landor  has  had  time  to  tell 
me  nothing,"  he  said,  and  turned  on  his  spurred  heel 
and  went  off  in  the  direction  of  the  post.  But  it  was 
not  a  situation,  after  all,  into  which  one  could  infuse 
much  dignity.  He  was  retreating,  anyway  it  might  be 
looked  at,  and  there  is  bound  to  be  more  or  less  igno- 
miny in  the  most  creditable  retreat. 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  post,  Landor  did  not 
speak  to  Felipa.  There  was  nothing  he  could  say  un- 
less he  were  to  storm  unavailingly,  and  that  was  by  no 
means  his  way.  And  there  was  nothing  for  which  he 
could,  with  reason,  blame  her.  All  things  considered, 
she  had  acted  very  well.  She  moved  beside  him 
serenely,  not  in  the  least  cowed. 

Later,  when  he  came  in  from  dress  parade,  he  found 
her  reading  in  the  sitting  room.  She  looked  up  and 
smiled,  but  his  face  was  very  angry,  and  the  chin  strap 
of  his  helmet  below  his  mouth  and  the  barbaric  yellow 
plume  added  to  the  effect  of  awful  and  outraged  majesty. 
He  stopped  in  front  of  her.  "I  have  been  thinking 
things  over,"  he  said.  She  waited.  "  Three  years  ago 
I  offered  you  your  liberty  to  marry  that  man.  I  repeat 
the  offer  now." 

She  stood  up  very  deliberately  and  faced  him  with  a 
look  he  had  never  seen  before  in  her  eyes,  dark  and 
almost  murderous.  But  she  had  her  fury  under  con- 


202  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

trol.  He  had  guessed  that  her  rage  might  be  a  very 
ugly  thing,  but  he  drew  back  a  step  at  the  revelation 
of  its  possibilities.  Twice  she  tried  hard  to  speak. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  throat,  where  her  voice  burned 
away  as  it  rose.  Then  it  came  from  the  depths  of  that 
being  of  hers,  which  he  had  never  fathomed. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  drive  me  off  ?  "  she  said  meas- 
uredly.  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  away  from  you  ?  If 
you  do,  I  will  go.  I  will  go,  and  I  will  never  come  back. 
But  I  will  not  go  to  him  —  not  on  my  own  account. 
It  doesn't  matter  what  happens  to  me ;  but  on  your 
account  and  on  his,  I  will  never  go  to  him  —  not  while 
you  are  alive."  She  stopped,  and  every  nerve  in  her 
body  was  tense  to  quivering,  her  drawn  lips  worked. 

"And  if  I  were  out  of  the  way ? "  he  suggested. 

She  had  never  been  cruel  intentionally  before,  and 
afterward  she  regretted  it.  But  she  raised  her  eye- 
brows and  turned  her  back  on  him  without  answering. 


XVII 

LAWTON  believed  himself  to  be  ill-used.  He  had 
written  to  Stone  a  strangely  composed  and  spelled 
account  of  the  whole  matter,  and  mingled  reproaches 
for  having  gotten  him  into  it ;  and  Stone  had  replied 
that  it  was  no  affair  of  his  one  way  or  another,  but  so 
far  as  he  could  make  out  Lawton  had  made  a  mess  of 
it  and  a  qualified  fool  of  himself. 

Whereupon  the  rancher,  his  feelings  being  much 
injured,  and  his  trust  in  mankind  in  general  shat- 
tered, did  as  many  a  wiser  man  has  done  before  him,  — 
made  himself  very  drunk,  and  in  his  cups  told  all 
that  he  knew  to  two  women  and  a  man.  "  I'd  like  to 
know  whose  affair  it  is,  if  it  ain't  his,  the  measly  sneak. 
He  sicked  me  on,"  —  oaths,  as  the  grammars  phrase  it, 
"understood."  The  tears  dribbled  off  his  fierce  mus- 
tache, and  the  women  and  the  man  laughed  at  him,  but 
they  were  quite  as  drunk  as  he  was,  and  they  forgot  all 
about  it  at  once.  Lawton  did  not  forget.  He  thought 
of  it  a  great  deal,  and  the  more  he  thought,  the  more 
he  wanted  revenge. 

Now  if  one  cannot  have  revenge  upon  the  real  male- 
factor himself,  because  one  is  afraid  of  him,  there  is 
still  satisfaction  to  be  derived,  to  a  certain  extent,  from 

203 


204  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

wreaking  it  upon  the  innocent,  of  whom  one  is  not 
afraid.  Lawton  felt,  in  his  simple  soul,  that  Stone  was 
astute  with  the  astuteness  of  the  devil  and  all  his 
angels.  On  the  other  hand,  he  believed  the  govern- 
ment to  be  dull.  It  was  big,  but  it  was  stupid.  Was 
not  the  whole  frontier  evidence  of  that  fact  to  him? 
Clearly,  then,  the  government  was  the  one  to  be  got 
even  with. 

He  had  been  in  hiding  three  weeks.  Part  of  the 
time  he  had  stayed  in  the  town  near  the  post,  small, 
but  as  frontier  towns  went,  eminently  respectable  and 
law-abiding.  For  the  rest  he  had  lain  low  in  a  house 
of  very  bad  name  at  the  exact  edge  of  the  military 
reservation.  The  poison  of  the  vile  liquor  he  had 
drunk  without  ceasing  had  gotten  itself  into  his  brain. 
He  had  reached  the  criminal  point,  not  bold,  —  he  was 
never  that, — but  considerably  more  dangerous,  upon  the 
whole.  He  drank  more  deeply  for  two  days  longer, 
after  he  received  Stone's  letter,  and  then,  when  he  was 
quite  mad,  when  his  eyes  were  bleared  and  fiery  and 
his  head  was  dry  and  hot  and  his  heart  terrible  within 
him,  he  went  out  into  the  black  night. 

It  was  still  early.  The  mountain  echoes  had  not 
sung  back  the  tattoo  of  the  trumpets  as  yet.  There 
was  a  storm  coming  on  from  the  snow  peak  in  the  west, 
and  the  clouds,  dark  with  light  edges,  were  thick  in  the 
sky.  Lawton  was  sober  enough  now.  Not  so  far 
away  in  its  little  pocket  among  the  hills  he  could  see 
the  post,  with  all  its  lights  twinkling,  as  though  one 
of  the  clear  starry  patches  in  the  heavens  were  reflected 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  205 

in  a  black  lake  in  the  valley.  And  the  road  stretched 
out  faint  and  gray  before  him. 

He  went  in  through  the  gate,  and  was  once  more  upon 
that  reservation  he  had  been  commanded  by  the  over- 
bearing tyrant  representative  of  the  military  to  leave, 
several  weeks  before.  As  he  trudged  along,  tattoo 
went.  In  the  clear  silence,  beneath  the  sounding- 
boards  of  the  low  clouds,  he  heard  the  voice  of  one  of 
the  sergeants.  He  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction. 
Tattoo  being  over,  some  of  the  lights  were  put  out, 
but  there  were  still  plenty  to  guide  him.  He  did  not 
want  to  get  there  too  early,  so  he  walked  more  slowly, 
and  when  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  garrison,  he 
hesitated. 

The  chances  of  detection  would  certainly  be  less  if 
he  should  go  back  of  the  officers'  quarters,  instead  of 
the  barracks.  But  to  do  that  he  would  have  to  cross 
the  road  which  led  from  the  trader's  to  the  quadrangle, 
and  he  would  surely  meet  some  one,  if  it  were  only 
some  servant  girl  and  her  lover.  He  had  observed  and 
learned  some  things  in  his  week  of  waiting  in  the  post 
—  that  week  which  otherwise  had  gone  for  worse  than 
nothing.  He  took  the  back  of  the  barracks,  keeping 
well  away  from  them,  stumbling  in  and  out  among 
rubbish  heaps.  He  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  what  he 
meant  to  do,  or  of  why  he  was  going  in  this  particular 
direction ;  but  he  was  ready  for  anything  that  might 
offer  to  his  hand.  If  he  came  upon  Landor  or  the 
adjutant  or  any  of  them,  he  would  put  a  knife  into 
him.  But  he  was  not  going  to  the  trouble  of  hunting 


206  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

them  out.  And  so  he  walked  on,  and  came  to  the  hay- 
stacks, looming,  denser  shadows  against  the  sky. 

Then  taps  sounded,  ringing  its  brazen  dirge  to  the 
night  in  a  long,  last  note.  It  ended  once,  but  the 
bugler  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  parade  and  began 
(  again.  Lawton  repeated  the  shaking  of  his  fist.  He 
was  growing  impatient,  and  also  scared.  A  little  more 
of  that  shrill  music,  and  his  nerves  would  go  into 
a  thousand  quivering  shreds  —  he  would  be  useless. 
Would  the  cursed,  the  many  times  cursed  military 
never  get  to  bed?  He  waited  in  the  shadow  of  the 
corrals,  leaning  against  the  low  wall,  gathering  his 
forces.  The  sentry  evidently  did  not  see  him.  The 
post  grew  more  and  more  still,  the  clouds  more  and 
more  thick. 

Gradually  it  began  to  form  itself  in  his  softened 
brain  what  he  meant  to  do.  It  is  safest  to  avenge 
oneself  upon  dumb  beasts,  after  all.  By  and  by  he 
began  to  feel  along  the  adobe  wall,  and  when  he  found 
a  niche  for  his  foot,  he  started  to  clamber  up.  He  had 
climbed  so  many  corral  walls,  to  sit  atop  of  them  with 
his  great,  booted  legs  dangling,  and  meditatively  whit- 
tle when  he  should  have  been  at  work,  that  it  was  easy 
for  him,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  on  the  shingled  roof, 
lying  flat.  In  another  he  had  dropped  down  upon  a 
bed  of  straw. 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  a  warm,  smooth 
flank.  The  horse  gave  a  little  low  whinny.  Quick  as 
a  flash  he  whipped  out  his  knife  and  hamstrung  it,  not 
that  one  only,  but  ten  other  mules  and  horses  before 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  207 

he  stopped.  He  groped  from  stall  to  stall,  and  in  each 
cut  just  once,  unerringly  and  deep,  so  that  the  poor 
beast,  which  had  turned  its  head  and  nosed  at  the 
touch  of  the  hand  of  one  of  those  humans  who  had 
always  been  its  friends,  was  left  writhing,  with  no  pos- 
sible outcome  but  death  with  a  bullet  in  its  head. 

He  was  waking  now  to  his  work.  But  he  had 
enough  of  horses.  He  stopped,  sheathed  his  knife,  and, 
feeling  in  his  pockets,  drew  out  a  box  of  matches.  A 
little  spluttering  flame  caught  in  a  pile  of  straw,  and 
showed  a  hind  foot  dragging  helplessly.  It  crept  up, 
and  the  mule  plunged  on  three  legs,  dragging  the  other 
along.  It  snorted,  and  then  every  animal  in  that  cor- 
ral, which  was  the  quartermaster's,  smelt  danger  and 
snorted  too,  and  struck  from  side  to  side  of  its  stall. 
Those  in  the  next  corral  caught  the  fear. 

If  the  sentry  outside  heard,  he  paid  no  attention.  It 
was  common  enough  for  the  horses  to  take  a  simulta- 
neous fit  of  restlessness  in  the  night,  startled  by  some 
bat  flapping  through  the  beams  or  by  a  rat  scurrying 
in  the  grain.  In  ten  minutes  more  a  flame  had  reached 
the  roof.  In  another  ten  minutes  the  sentry  had  dis- 
charged his  carbine  three  times,  fire  call  had  been 
sounded  in  quick,  alarming  notes,  and  men  and  officers, 
half  dressed,  had  come  running  from  the  barracks  and 
the  line. 

Any  other  fire  —  excepting  always  in  an  ammunition 
magazine  —  is  easier  to  handle  than  one  in  a  stable.  It 
takes  time  to  blind  plunging  horses  and  lead  them  out 
singly.  And  there  is  no  time  to  take.  Hay  and  straw 


208  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

and  gunny-sacks  and  the  dry  wood  of  the  stable  go  up 
like  tinder.  It  has  burned  itself  out  before  you  can 
begin  to  extinguish  it. 

There  were  four  corrals  in  the  one,  and  two  of  them 
were  on  fire.  They  had  spread  wet  blankets  on  the 
roof  of  the  third,  but  it,  too,  caught  directly.  The  big, 
yellow-hearted  flames  poured  up  into  the  sky.  The 
glow  was  cast  back  again  from  the  blackness  of  the  low 
clouds,  and  lit  up  the  ground  with  a  dazing  shimmer. 
It  blinded  and  burned  and  set  the  rules  of  fire  drill 
pretty  well  at  naught,  when  the  only  water  supply  was 
in  small  buckets  and  a  few  barrels,  and  the  horses  had 
kicked  over  two  of  the  latter. 

In  the  corral  where  the  fire  had  started  and  was  best 
under  way,  and  in  the  stall  farthest  from  the  gate,  a 
little  pinto  mustang  was  jerking  at  its  halter  and  squeal- 
ing with  fear.  It  was  Cairness's  horse.  He  had  been 
allowed  to  stable  it  there,  and  he  himself  was  not  down 
with  his  scouts  in  the  ill-smelling  camp  across  the  creek, 
but  had  a  room  at  the  sutler's  store,  a  good  three-quar- 
ters of  a  mile  from  the  corrals.  As  soon  as  the  bugle 
call  awoke  him,  he  started  at  a  run  ;  but  the  fire  was 
beyond  fighting  when  he  got  there. 

He  grabbed  a  man  at  the  gate,  who  happened  to  be 
the  quartermaster  sergeant  himself,  and  asked  if  his 
horse  had  been  taken  out. 

The  sergeant  spent  more  time  upon  the  oaths  with 
which  he  embellished  the  counter-question  as  to  how  he 
should  know  anything  about  it,  than  would  have  been 
consumed  in  a  civil  explanation. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  209 

Cairness  dropped  him  and  went  into  the  corrals  to  see 
for  himself.  The  fire  roared  and  hissed,  flung  charred 
wood  into  the  air,  and  let  it  fall  back  again.  He  remem- 
bered, in  an  inconsequent  flash,  how  one  night  in  the 
South  Pacific  he  had  taken  a  very  pretty  girl  below  to 
see  the  engines.  They  had  stood  in  the  stoke-hole  on  a 
heap  of  coal,  hand  in  hand,  down  beneath  the  motion  of 
the  decks  where  the  only  movement  seemed  to  be  the 
jar  of  the  screw  working  against  the  thrust  block  and 
the  reverberation  of  the  connecting-rod  and  engines. 
A  luckless,  dust-caked  wretch  of  a  stoker  had  thrown 
open  the  door  of  a  furnace  in  front  of  them,  and  they 
had  seen  the  roaring,  sputtering,  seething  whirl  of  fire 
within.  They  had  given  a  simultaneous  cry,  hiding 
their  scorched  faces  in  their  arms,  and  stumbled  blindly 
over  the  coal  beds  back  to  the  clattering  of  the  engine 
rooms. 

It  had  all  been  very  like  this,  only  that  this  was  a 
little  worse,  for  there  were  half  a  dozen  dead  animals 
lying  across  the  stalls,  and  others  were  being  shot.  The 
pistols  snapped  sharply,  and  the  smell  of  powder  was 
more  pungent  than  all  the  other  smells. 

He  passed  an  officer  who  had  a  smoking  six-shooter 
in  his  hand,  and  yelled  in  his  ear,  "  Why  are  you  doing 
that  ?  "  He  had  forgotten  that  it  was  by  no  means  his 
place  to  question. 

"  Been  hamstrung,"  the  officer  bawled  back  hoarsely. 

In  the  end  stall  the  bronco  was  still  squealing  and 
whimpering  in  an  almost  human  key.  He  struck  it  on 
the  flank  with  his  open  palm  and  spoke,  "  Get  over 


210  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

there."  It  had  been  made  so  much  of  a  pet,  and  had 
been  so  constantly  with  him,  that  it  was  more  intelligent 
than  the  average  of  its  kind.  It  got  over  and  stood 
quiet  and  still,  trembling.  He  cut  the  halter  close  to 
the  knot,  turned  it  out  of  the  stall,  and  flinging  himself 
across  its  back  dug  his  heels  into  its  belly. 

Just  for  a  moment  it  hesitated,  then  started  with  the 
bronco  spring,  jumping  the  dead  mules,  shying  from 
right  to  left  and  back  again,  and  going  out  through  the 
gates  at  a  run.  Cairness  held  on  with  his  knees  as  he 
had  learned  to  do  when  he  had  played  at  stock-rider 
around  Katawa  and  Glen  Lomond  in  the  days  of  his 
boyhood,  as  he  had  done  since  with  the  recruits  at 
hurdle  drill,  or  when  he  had  chased  a  fleet  heifer  across 
the  prairie  and  had  had  no  time  to  saddle.  He  could 
keep  his  seat,  no  fear  concerning  that,  but  it  was  all  he 
could  do.  The  pony  was  not  to  be  stopped.  He  had 
only  what  was  left  of  the  halter  shank  by  way  of  a 
bridle,  and  it  was  none  at  all.  A  Mexican  knife  bit 
would  hardly  have  availed. 

They  tore  on,  away  from  the  noise  of  the  flames,  of 
the  falling  timber  and  the  shouted  commands,  around 
the  haystacks  so  close  to  the  barbed- wire  fence  that  the 
barbs  cut  his  boot,  off  by  the  back  of  the  quarters,  and 
then  upon  the  road  that  led  from  the  reservation.  If 
the  pony  could  be  kept  on  that  road,  there  was  small 
danger  from  dog  holes.  He  would  run  himself  out  in 
time.  The  length  of  time  was  what  was  uncertain, 
however.  A  cow-pony  can  go  a  good  many  hours  at 
a  stretch. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  211 

Cairness  sat  more  erect,  and  settled  down  to  wait. 
The  motion  was  so  swift  that  he  hardly  felt  it.  He 
turned  his  head  and  looked  back  at  the  flaming  corrals, 
and,  remembering  the  dead  animals,  wondered  who 
had  hamstrung  them.  Then  he  peered  forward  again 
the  little  way  he  could  see  along  the  road,  and  began 
to  make  out  that  there  was  some  one  ahead  of  him. 
Whoever  it  was  scurrying  ahead  there,  bent  almost 
double  in  his  speed,  was  the  one  who  had  hamstrung 
the  mules  and  horses,  and  who  had  set  fire  to  the 
corrals.  The  pony  was  rather  more  under  control 
now.  It  could  be  guided  by  the  halter  shank. 

The  man,  still  running,  dodged  from  the  road  and 
started  across  country.  Cairness  wheeled  and  fol- 
lowed him.  It  was  open  ground,  with  not  so  much  as 
a  scrub  oak  or  a  rock  in  sight.  The  thick  darkness 
offered  the  only  chance  of  escape.  But  Cairness  had 
chased  yearlings  in  nights  as  black,  and  had  brought 
them  back  to  the  herd.  Down  by  the  creek  where  the 
trees  were  thick,  there  would  have  been  a  good  chance 
for  escape,  almost  a  certainty  indeed,  but  there  was 
little  here.  The  man  dodged  again.  It  was  just  to 
that  very  thing  that  the  pony  had  been  trained.  Habit 
got  the  better  of  stampede  with  it.  It,  too,  dodged 
sharply. 

Cairness  leaned  far  over  and  made  a  grab,  but  the 
first  time  he  missed.  The  second  he  caught  the  neck- 
erchief and  held  it,  dragging  the  man,  who  resisted 
with  all  his  giant  strength,  digging  his  toes  into  the 
ground  as  they  tore  along.  And  he  was  heavy.  Cair- 


212  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

ness  had  no  stirrup  or  pommel  to  trust  to.  He  saw 
that  it  was  a  case  of  falling  or  of  leaving  go,  and  he 
decided  to  fall.  The  man  would  go  underneath  any- 
way. 

The  man  did  go  underneath  and  bravely  offered 
resistance.  Cairness  had  the  twofold  strength  of  his 
wiry  build  and  of  his  bull-dog  race.  But  Lawton  — 
he  knew  it  was  Lawton  now  —  would  have  been 
stronger  yet,  save  that  the  three  weeks'  spree  had  told, 
and  he  was  breathless. 

Cairness  sat  across  him  and  held  a  revolver  to  his 
mouth.  The  life  of  the  plains  teaches  agility  of  vari- 
ous sorts,  but  chiefly  in  the  matter  of  drawing  a  six- 
shooter.  "  You  fired  the  corrals,"  Cairness  gasped. 

The  fall  had  knocked  the  breath  from  his  body. 
The  under  dog  did  not  answer. 

"And  you  hamstrung  those  horses." 

No  answer  still. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  I'll  break  your  jaws  if  you  don't  open  them."  The 
jaws  opened  forthwith,  but  no  sound  came,  and  Law- 
ton  struggled  feebly. 

It  occurred  to  Cairness  then  that  with  no  breath  in 
your  lungs  and  with  twelve  stone  on  your  chest,  speech 
is  difficult.  He  slid  off  and  knelt  beside  the  rancher, 
still  with  the  revolver  levelled.  "Now,  why  did  you 
do  it,  eh  ?  "  He  enforced  the  "  eh  "  with  a  shake. 

"Idunno.     I  didn't." 

"  Didn't  you,  then  ?     You  did,  though,  and  you  can 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  213 

go  back  with  me  till  we  find   out  why.      Give  me 
your  firearms.     Lively  !  " 

Lawton  produced  a  brace  of  revolvers. 

"And  your  knife." 

He  handed  it  over  also. 

"  Now  you  get  up  and  walk  in  front  of  me,  and  don't 
you  try  to  bolt.  I  can  run  faster  than  you  can,  and, 
anyway,  I'll  shoot  you  if  you  try  it." 

Lawton  moved  ahead  a  few  steps  ;  then  he  began  to 
cry,  loudly,  blubbering,  his  nerves  gone  all  to  shreds. 
He  implored  and  pleaded  and  wailed.  He  hadn't 
known  what  he  was  doing.  He  had  been  drunk. 
They  had  treated  him  badly  about  the  beef  contract. 
Stone  had  gone  back  on  him.  The  oaths  that  he 
sobbed  forth  were  not  new  to  Cairness,  but  they  were 
very  ugly. 

"  Cheese  that  cussing,  do  you  hear  ?  "  he  ordered. 

Lawton  stopped.  To  forbid  him  swearing  was  to 
forbid  him  speech.  He  shuffled  ahead  in  silence. 

When  Cairness  got  him  to  the  post  and  turned  him 
over  to  the  officer-of-the-day,  the  fire  had  burned  itself 
out  and  quiet  was  settling  down  again.  Big  warm 
drops  were  beginning  to  splash  from  the  clouds. 

The  officer-of-the-day  put  Lawton  into  the  care  of 
the  guard  and  asked  Cairness  in  to  have  a  drink, 
calling  him  "  my  good  man."  Cairness  was  properly 
aware  of  the  condescension  involved  in  being  asked  into 
an  officer's  dining  room,  but  he  objected  to  being  con-, 
descended  to  by  a  man  who  doubled  his  negatives,  and 
he  refused. 


214  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

"  Is  there  anything,  then,  that  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 
the  officer  asked.  His  intentions  were  good  ;  Cairness 
was  bound  to  realize  that,  too. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered ;  "  you  can  see  that  I  get 
a  mounted  man  and  a  horse  at  reveille  to-morrow.  I 
want  to  hunt  for  my  pony.  I  lost  it  when  I  caught 
that  man." 

The  officer-of-the-day  agreed.  And  Cairness,  not 
having  a  hat  to  raise,  forgot  himself  and  saluted. 
Then  he  went  back  to  the  sutler's  through  the  already 
pelting  rain.  He  was  glad  he  had  caught  Lawton, 
mainly  because  of  what  he  hoped  to  get  out  of  him  yet, 
about  the  Kirby  affair.  But  he  was  sorry  for  the  big 
clumsy  fool,  too.  He  had  been  an  easy-going,  well- 
intentioned  boss  in  the  days  when  Cairness  had  been 
his  hand.  And,  too,  he  was  sorry,  very  sorry,  about 
the  pony.  If  it  were  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Mexi- 
cans or  even  of  some  of  the  Mescalero  Indians,  his 
chances  of  seeing  it  again  would  be  slight.  And  he 
was  fond  of  it,  mainly  because  it  had  helped  him  to 
save  Mrs.  Landor's  life. 


XVIII 

CAIRNESS  had  made  a  tune  for  himself  and  was  put- 
ting to  it  the  words  of  the  ill-fated  poet  of  his  own 
Land  of  the  Dawning. 

'  Oh !  wind  that  whistles,  o'er  thorns  and  thistles 
Of  the  fruitful  earth,  like  a  goblin  elf, 
Why  should  he  labor  to  help  his  neighbor, 
Who  feels  too  reckless  to  help  himself  ?  " 

He  felt  altogether  reckless.  In  just  such  a  mood,  he 
reflected,  his  grandmother  had  probably  poisoned  her 
first  husband.  He  could  almost  have  poisoned  Landor, 
the  big  duty-narrowed,  conventional,  military  machine. 
Why  could  he  not  have  married  some  one  of  his  own 
mental  circumspection  ?  —  Mrs.  Campbell,  for  instance. 
He  had  watched  that  affair  during  his  enlistment. 
More  the  pity  it  had  come  to  nothing.  Landor  could 
have  understood  Mrs.  Campbell.  Then  he  thought  of 
Felipa,  as  he  had  seen  her  first,  looking  full  into  the 
glare  of  the  sunset,  and  afterward  at  him,  with  mag- 
nificent impersonality. 

"He  has  caught  a  lioness  and  tricked  her  out  in 
fashionable  rags  and  taught  her  some  capers,  and  now 
he  thinks  he  has  improved  the  animal,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  raged  inwardly,  asking  the  intangible  Fate, 
which  was  always  opposing  him,  if  there  was  not 

215 


216  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

enough  little  doll  women  in  the  world  that  such  an 
one  as  Felipa  must  be  whittled  down  to  the  size. 

The  probable  outcome  of  things  at  the  rate  they 
were  going  was  perfectly  apparent.  Landor  would 
advance  in  age,  respectability,  and  rank,  and  would  be 
retired  and  settle  down  on  three-fourths  pay.  He 
himself  would  end  up  in  some  cow-boy  row,  degraded 
and  worthless,  a  tough  character  very  probably,  a  fine 
example  of  nothing  save  atavism.  And  Felipa  would 
grow  old.  That  splendid  triumphant  youth  of  hers 
would  pass,  and  she  would  be  a  commonplace,  subdued, 
middle-aged  woman,  in  whom  a  relapse  to  her  nature 
would  be  a  mere  vulgarity. 

He  recalled  the  dark,  unbecoming  flush  that  had 
deepened  the  color  of  her  skin  just  enough  to  show  the 
squaw,  beyond  mistaking,  at  least  to  one  who  knew. 
It  was  all  very  well  now.  But  later,  later  she  would 
look  like  that  frequently,  if  not  all  the  time.  With 
youth  she  would  lose  her  excuse  for  being.  He  knew 
that  very  well.  But  it  was  the  youth,  the  majestic, 
powerful  youth,  that  he  loved.  He  had  seen  too 
many  old  hags  of  squaws,  disfigurers  of  the  dead  and 
wounded,  drudges  of  the  rancheria,  squatting  on  hides 
before  their  tepees,  not  to  know  what  Felipa's  decline 
would  be  in  spite  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  strain  that 
seemed  to  show  only  in  her  white  skin. 

Her  only  salvation,  he  knew  that  too,  was  to  keep 
that  strain  always  uppermost,  to  force  it  to  the  sur- 
face, exactly  as  Landor  was  doing  now.  Conventional, 
stately,  reserved,  in  the  garb  of  civilization,  she  would 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  217 

have  a  certain  dignity.     But  youth  was  too  good  to 
sell  for  that. 

"  Where  is  the  use  of  the  lip's  red  charm, 
The  heaven  of  hair,  the  pride  of  the  brow, 
And  the  blood  that  blues  the  inside  arm  ?  "  — 

He  laughed  crossly.  Evidently  he  was  dropping 
back  into  the  poetical  tendencies  of  his  most  callow 
youth.  He  would  be  doing  her  a  sonnet  next,  for- 
sooth. He  had  done  two  or  three  of  them  in  his 
school  days  for  Sydney  damsels.  That  was  when  he 
had  aspired  to  be  ranked  in  his  own  country  with 
Gordon.  Good  Lord  !  how  many  aspirations  of  vari- 
ous sorts  he  had  had.  And  he  was  a  cow-boy. 

Somewhere  in  that  same  poem,  he  remembered,  there 
had  been  advice  relative  to  a  man's  contending  to  the 
uttermost  for  his  life's  set  prize,  though  the  end  in 
sight  were  a  vice.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It 
might  be  well  enough  to  hold  to  that  in  Florence  and 
the  Middle  Ages.  It  was  highly  impracticable  for 
New  Mexico  and  the  nineteenth  century.  So  many 
things  left  undone  can  be  conveniently  laid  to  the 
prosaic  and  materialistic  tendencies  of  the  age.  Things 
were  bad  enough  now  —  for  Landor,  for  himself,  and 
most  especially  for  Felipa.  But  if  one  were  to  be 
guided  by  the  romantic  poets,  they  could  conceivably 
be  much  worse. 

He  struck  his  pony  with  the  fringed  end  of  the 
horse-hair  lariat  that  hung  around  his  pommel,  and 
cantered  on  in  the  direction  of  the  post.  The  pony 
had  been  found  among  the  foot-hills,  without  any 


218  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

trouble.  That,  at  any  rate,  had  been  a  stroke  of  luck. 
He  had  led  it  into  the  fort  just  at  the  end  of  guard- 
mounting,  and  had  met  a  party  of  riders  going  out. 

Mrs.  Landor  was  with  them.  She  had  a  little  bat- 
tered, brass  trumpet  hanging  from  her  horn,  and  he 
knew  that  they  were  going  to  play  at  hare  and  hounds. 
She  and  the  three  with  her  were  evidently  the  hares. 
They  would  take  a  ten  minutes'  start ;  then,  at  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet,  the  hounds  would  follow.  The 
riding  was  sometimes  reckless.  A  day  or  two  before 
he  had  seen  Felipa  leap  an  arroyo,  the  edges  of  which 
were  crumbling  in,  and  take  a  fallen  tree  on  very  dan- 
gerous ground. 

He  looked  about  now  for  a  sign  of  either  party. 
Across  the  creek  was  some  one  riding  slowly  along  the 
crest  of  a  hill,  seeming  so  small  and  creeping  that  only 
a  very  trained  eye  could  have  made  it  out.  It  was 
probably  a  hound.  The  hares  lay  low,  in  canons  and 
gullies  and  brush,  as  a  rule.  As  he  scanned  the  rest  of 
the  valley,  his  horse  stopped  short,  with  its  fore  legs 
planted  stiffly.  He  looked  down  and  saw  that  he  was 
at  the  brink  of  a  sheer  fall  of  twenty  feet  or  more,  like 
a  hole  scooped  in  the  side  of  the  little  rise  he  was  rid- 
ing over.  He  remembered,  then,  that  there  was  a 
cave  somewhere  about.  He  had  often  heard  of  it,  and 
probably  it  was  this.  He  dismounted,  and,  tying  the 
pony  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  walked  down  and  around 
to  investigate. 

It  was  plainly  the  cave.  He  went  and  stood  in  the 
mouth  and  looked  into  the  dark,  narrowing  throat.  A 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  219 

weird  silence  poured  up  with  the  damp,  earthy  smell. 
He  went  farther  in,  half  sliding  down  the  steep  bank 
of  soft,  powdery,  white  earth.  There  was  only  the 
uncanny  light  which  comes  from  reflection  from  the 
ground  upward.  But  by  it  he  could  see  innumerable 
tiny  footprints,  coyote,  squirrel,  prairie-dog,  polecat 
tracks  and  the  like.  It  took  very  little  imagination  to 
see  yellow  teeth  and  eyes  gleaming  from  black  shadows 
also,  although  he  knew  there  were  no  dangerous  ani- 
mals in  those  parts. 

When  he  was  well  within,  he  began  to  investigate, 
and  he  recalled  now  that  he  had  heard  a  great  deal  of 
this  cave.  It  was  very  large,  supposedly,  but  almost 
unexplored.  Tradition  ran  that  the  Spaniards,  in  the 
long-past  days  of  their  occupation,  had  had  a  big  silver 
mine  in  there,  worked  by  padres  who  had  taught  the 
timid  Indians  to  believe  that  it  was  haunted,  that  they 
might  not  take  it  for  themselves,  nor  yet  guide  others 
to  it.  And,  too,  it  had  been  the  refuge  and  hiding- 
place  of  Billy  the  Kid  for  years.  It  was  said  that 
since  then  a  corporal  and  three  men  had  gone  in  once, 
and  that  a  search  party  had  found  their  gnawed 
skeletons  by  the  edge  of  the  river  that  flowed  there 
underground.  Oddly  enough,  and  thanks  to  the 
missionary  fathers,  it  had  never  served  as  an  Indian 
stronghold,  though  its  advantages  for  such  a  use  were 
manifest. 

Cairness  sat  himself  down  and  tried  to  listen  for  the 
flow  of  the  great  black  river  yonder  in  the  great  black 
hollow.  By  dint  of  straining  his  ears  he  almost  fancied 


220  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

that  he  did  catch  a  sound.  But  at  the  same  instant, 
there  came  a  real  and  unmistakable  one.  He  started 
a  little,  not  quite  sure,  just  at  first,  what  manner  of 
wild  beast,  or  man,  or  genius  of  the  cave  might  pounce 
out  upon  him. 

It  was  only  some  one  standing  at  the  mouth  of  the 
hole,  however,  a  shadow  against  the  shimmering  sun- 
light. And  it  was  a  woman  —  it  was  Felipa. 

He  sat  quite  still,  clinching  his  teeth  and  clawing 
his  fingers  tensely.  In  the  great  crises  of  life,  training 
and  upbringing  and  education  fall  away,  and  a  man  is 
governed  by  two  forces,  his  instincts  and  his  surround- 
ings. And  Cairness's  instincts  were  in  entire  accord 
with  his  surroundings  ;  they  were  of  the  Stone  Age, 
when  men  fought  with  the  beasts  of  the  wilderness 
in  their  cave  homes,  and  had  only  the  law  of  sheer 
strength.  He  leaned  forward,  holding  his  breath,  and 
watched  her.  Had  she  seen  his  horse  tied  up  above, 
and  come  here  to  find  him  —  because  he  was  here  ? 

She  might  have  seen  two  dots  of  light  fixed  on  her 
from  the  shadow,  if  she  had  looked  that  way.  But  she 
did  not,  and  came  unconcernedly  down.  She  was  sure- 
footed and  agile,  and  she  was  daring,  too.  He  himself 
had  felt  a  qualm  at  coming  here.  But  she  did  not 
appear  to  hesitate  once.  She  came  on,  close  by  where 
he  sat,  and  going  to  the  dark  passage  peered  in.  Then 
she  turned  away  and  caught  sight  of  him. 

He  was  accustomed  to  the  gloom  by  now,  but  she 
was  not.  She  could  only  see  that  there  was  some  one 
in  the  shadow.  It  flashed  through  his  mind  that  she 


THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST  221 

would  scream,  but  the  next  moment  he  knew  that  she 
would  not. 

She  drew  herself  up  and  grasped  her  loaded  quirt  more 
firmly.  There  are  some  natures  to  which  flight  from  a 
thing  feared  is  physically  impossible.  They  must  not 
only  face  danger,  they  must  go  up  to  it.  It  is  a  trait, 
like  any  other.  Felipa  took  two  steps  toward  him. 

He  came  out  of  the  rock  nook  into  the  half  light  and 
spoke  her  own  name. 

She  was  frightened  now.  The  quirt  fell  from  her 
hand  with  a  thud.  She  loosed  her  hold  upon  her  long 
riding  skirt  and  tripped  over  it. 

If  he  had  not  sprung  forward,  with  his  arms  out- 
stretched to  catch  her,  she  would  have  fallen,  face 
downward  in  the  dust.  It  was  three  times  now  he 
had  so  saved  her. 

He  knew  even  then  while  her  hand  grasped  at  his 
arm,  that  he  should  have  set  her  upon  her  feet,  as  he 
had  done  before.  He  knew  that  she  had  merited  at 
least  that.  But  he  held  her  tight  and  close,  and  bend- 
ing back  her  head,  his  own  very  close  above  it,  looked 
into  her  eyes. 

Then  he  stopped,  with  every  muscle  drawn,  for  he 
had  seen  in  her  answering,  unflinching  gaze  that  he 
was  losing  her,  surely,  irrevocably  losing  her.  He  let 
her  go,  almost  throwing  her  away,  and  she  caught  hold 
of  a  ledge  of  rock  to  steady  herself.  He  picked  up  the 
heavy  quirt  and  held  it  out  to  her,  with  a  shaking 
hand,  shame-faced,  and  defiant,  too. 

She  took  it,  and  they  both  stood  for  a  time  without 


222  THE   HERITAGE   OP  UNREST 

speaking.  Then  she  turned  her  head  and  looked  up 
at  the  sunshine.  "  I  think  I  must  go,"  she  whispered. 
But  she  did  not  move. 

He  asked  her  angrily  why  she  had  ever  come  at  all, 
and  she  explained,  with  a  piteous  whimper,  like  a 
penitent  child's,  that  she  had  left  her  horse  tied  in  a 
little  hollow  and  had  come  to  explore.  She  had  often 
meant  to  explore  before  this. 

He  was  still  more  exasperated,  with  himself  and 
with  her,  that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  •  think  for 
one  moment  that  she  had  come  on  purpose  to  find 
him.  Where  were  the  others  ?  How  did  she  happen 
to  be  here  alone  ?  he  asked. 

She  told  him  that  they  had  all  scattered  some  time 
before,  with  the  hounds  in  full  cry.  "  I  must  go,"  she 
repeated  more  firmly  now,  "they  will  be  looking  — " 
She  stopped  short. 

There  was  the  crunching  of  heavy  feet  up  above,  on 
the  gravel.  It  came  to  them  both,  even  to  her,  that 
for  them  to  be  seen  there  together  would  be  final. 
There  would  be  no  explaining  it  away.  Cairness 
thought  of  her.  She  thought  of  her  husband.  It 
would  ruin  him  and  his  life. 

It  was  done  before  either  of  them  was  conscious  of 
doing  it.  The  black  throat  of  the  cave  was  open 
behind  him.  Cairness  jumped  back  into  it,  and  she 
turned  away  and  stood  waiting,  stiff  with  fear,  not 
of  the  man  whoever  it  might  prove  to  be  up  there, 
but  for  the  one  who  had  stepped  into  the  unknown 
dangers  of  the  darkness  behind  her. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  223 

The  man  up  above  showed  himself,  and  putting  his 
hands  to  his  mouth  shouted,  "  Felipa  !  " 

She  gave  a  cry  of  relief.  "  Mr.  Cairness,  Mr.  Cair- 
ness,"  she  called,  "it  is  only  my  husband."  She  went 
herself  a  little  way  into  the  passage.  "  Jack,  Mr.  Cair- 
ness has  gone  in  there,  call  to  him."  And  she  called 
again  herself. 

Landor  came  sliding  and  running  down.  His  face 
was  misshapen  with  the  anger  that  means  killing. 
She  saw  it,  and  her  powers  came  back  to  her  all  at 
once.  She  put  both  hands  against  his  breast  and 
pushed  him  back,  with  all  the  force  of  her  sinewy 
arms.  His  foot  slipped  on  a  stone  and  he  fell. 

She  dropped  beside  him  and  tried  to  hold  him  down. 
"  He  did  not  know  I  was  coming  here,"  she  pleaded. 
"  It  was  a  mistake,  Jack  !  Will  you  wait  until  I  tell 
you  ?  Will  you  wait  ?  "  She  was  clinging  around 
his  neck  and  would  not  be  shaken  off.  He  dragged 
her  in  the  dust,  trying  to  get  free  himself. 

Cairness  had  groped  his  way  back.  He  stood  watch- 
ing them.  And  he,  too,  was  ready  to  kill.  If  Landor 
had  raised  his  hand  against  her,  he  would  have  shot 
him  down. 

But,  instead,  Landor  stopped  abruptly,  rigid  with 
the  force  of  will.  "  I  will  wait.  Go  on,"  he  said. 
His  voice  was  low  and  rasping. 

It  dawned  upon  Cairness  that  this  was  rather  more 
than  a  military  machine  after  all,  that  he  had  under- 
estimated it. 

Felipa  stood  up   and  told   the  truth  shortly.      "It 


224  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

was  my  fault,  if  it  was  any  one's,"  she  ended.  "  You 
may  kill  me,  if  you  like.  But  if  you  hurt  him,  I 
will  kill  myself."  It  was  she  who  was  threatening 
now,  and  she  never  said  more  than  she  meant.  She 
turned  almost  disdainfully  from  them,  and  went  up 
and  out  of  the  cave. 

Landor  stopped  behind,  looking  at  Cairness  unde- 
cidedly for  a  moment  longer.  "  It  is  well  for  you 
that  I  can  believe  her  implicitly,"  he  said.  It  had  been 
a  relapse  to  the  Stone  Age,  but  the  rebound  to  the 
nineteenth  century  was  as  quick. 

Cairness  bowed,  with  no  realization  of  the  humor 
of  it.  "  You  are  equally  fortunate,"  he  said  easily, 
and  motioned  with  his  hand  to  the  opening  above,  where 
Felipa  was  going.  He  might  have  been  under  his 
own  roof,  and  that  the  door. 

Landor  went.  Felipa  waited  for  him,  already 
mounted.  He  mounted  his  own  horse  and  rode 
beside  her  back  to  the  post.  They  did  not  speak, 
and  he  was  conscious  above  his  anger  that  his  fond- 
ness for  her  had  been  gradually  turning  to  dislike, 
and  was  now  loathing.  He  had  seen  her  dragging 
in  the  dust  before  him,  pleading  abjectly.  She  had 
humiliated  him  and  herself  in  the  presence  of  Cairness, 
of  all  men,  and  he  would  never  forget  it.  A  woman 
who  once  grovels  at  a  man's  feet  has  lost  thenceforth 
her  power  over  him. 


XIX 

IF  you  take  even  a  good-humored  puppy  of  a  savage 
breed  and  tie  him  to  a  kennel  so  that  all  his  natural 
energy  strikes  in  ;  if  you  feed  him  upon  raw  meat, 
when  you  feed  him  at  all,  but  half  starve  him  for  the 
most  part  ;  and  if  you  tantalize  and  goad  him  when- 
ever you  are  in  search  of  a  pastime,  he  is  more  than 
likely  to  become  a  dangerous  beast  when  he  grows  up. 
He  is  then  a  menace  to  the  public,  so  you  have  but 
one  course  left  —  to  take  him  out  and  shoot  him. 

That  is  the  proper  way  to  bring  up  dogs.  It  makes 
them  useful  members  of  society.  And  it  applies 
equally  well  to  Indians.  It  has  worked  beautifully 
with  them  for  several  hundred  years .  In  Canada  they 
have  run  it  on  another  principle.  But  they  have 
missed  much  of  the  fun  we  have  had  out  of  it.  In 
the  territories  there  was  plenty  of  such  fun.  And  it 
had  pretty  well  reached  its  height  in  the  spring  of  '83. 

The  Indians,  being  wicked,  ungrateful,  suspicious 
characters,  doubted  the  promises  of  the  White-eyes. 
But  it  is  only  just  to  be  charitable  toward  their  igno- 
rance. They  were  children  of  the  wilderness  and  of 
the  desert  places,  walking  in  darkness.  Had  the 
lights  of  the  benefits  of  civilization  ever  shone  in  upon 
them,  they  would  have  realized  that  the  government 
Q  225 


226  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

of  these  United  States,  down  to  its  very  least  official 
representative,  never  lies,  never  even  evades. 

"  Have  I  ever  lied  to  you  ?  "  Crook  asked  them. 

And  the  deaf  old  chief  Pedro  answered  for  them: 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  when  you  were  here  before,  whenever 
you  said  a  thing,  we  knew  that  it  was  true,  and  we 
kept  it  in  our  minds.  When  you  were  here,  we  were 
content;  but  we  cannot  understand  why  you  went  away. 
Why  did  you  leave  us  ?  Everything  was  all  right 
when  you  were  here." 

He  was  but  an  unlearned  and  simple  savage,  and  the 
workings  of  a  War  Department  were,  of  course,  a  mys- 
tery to  him.  He  and  his  people  should  have  believed 
Crook.  The  thoughtful  government  which  that  much- 
harassed  general  represented  had  done  everything  pos- 
sible to  instil  sweet  trustfulness  into  their  minds. 
But  the  Apache,  as  all  reports  have  set  forth,  is  an 
uncertain  quantity. 

The  quiet,  observant,  capable  man,  whose  fate  it  was 
to  be  always  called  in  for  the  thankless  task  of  undo- 
ing the  evil  work  of  others,  made  every  effort  to  pacify 
this  time,  but  he  failed. 

"  Yes,  we  believe  you,"  said  the  Apache ;  "  but  you  may 
go  away  again."  So  he  refused  to  be  cajoled,  and  go- 
ing upon  the  war-path,  after  much  bloodshed,  fled  into 
Mexico. 

The  general  took  a  couple  of  hundred  Indian  scouts, 
enlisted  for  six  months'  service,  a  troop  of  cavalry,  and  a 
half-dozen  guides  and  interpreters,  and  followed  across 
the  border. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  227 

There  was  a  new  treaty,  just  made  to  that  end.  It 
was  the  fiercest  of  all  the  Apache  tribes,  the  Chiricahuas, 
that  had  hidden  itself  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Sierra 
Madre,  two  hundred  miles  south  of  the  boundary  line. 
Geronimo  and  Juh  and  Chato,  and  other  chiefs  of  quite 
as  bloody  fame,  were  with  him.  To  capture  them  would 
be  very  creditable  success.  To  fail  to  do  so  would  entail 
dire  consequences,  international  complications  perhaps, 
and  of  a  certainty  the  scorn  and  abuse  of  all  the  wise 
men  who  sat  in  judgment  afar  off. 

The  general  kept  his  own  counsel  then,  but  after- 
ward, when  it  was  all  over,  he  confessed,  —  not  to  the 
rejoicing  reporter  who  was  making  columns  out  of  him 
for  the  papers  of  this,  and  even  of  many  another,  land, 
—  but  to  the  friends  who  had  in  some  measure  under- 
stood and  believed  in  him,  that  the  strain  and  responsi- 
bility had  all  but  worn  him  out.  And  he  was  no  frail 
man,  this  mighty  hunter  of  the  plains. 

The  general  of  romance  is  a  dashing  creature,  who 
wears  gold  lace  and  has  stars  upon  his  shoulder  straps, 
and  rides  a  fiery  charger  at  the  head  of  his  troops.  He 
always  sits  upon  the  charger,  a  field-glass  in  his  hand 
and  waiting  aides  upon  every  side,  or  flourishes  a  sword 
as  he  plunges  into  the  thick  of  the  battle  smoke. 

But  Crook  was  not  dashing,  only  quiet  and  steady, 
and  sure  as  death.  Upon  parade  and  occasions  of  cere- 
mony he  wore  the  gold  lace  and  the  stars.  To  do  his 
life's  work  he  put  on  an  old  flannel  shirt,  tied  a  kerchief 
around  his  neck,  and  set  a  pith  helmet  over  those  far- 
seeing,  keen  little  eyes.  He  might  have  been  a  pro- 


228  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

spector,  or  a  cow-boy,  for  all  the  outward  seeming  of  it. 
His  charger  was  oftenest  a  little  government  mule,  and 
he  walked,  leading  it  over  many  and  many  a  trail  that 
even  its  sure  feet  could  not  trust. 

There  were  plenty  such  trails  in  the  Sierra  Madre, 
through  which  the  Apache  scouts  were  guiding  him  to 
their  hostile  brothers.  Cairn  ess  had  come  along  with 
his  own  band  of  scouts.  He  had  seen  rough  work  in 
his  time,  but  none  equal  to  this.  Eight  mules  stepped 
a  hand's  breadth  from  the  path,  and  lay  hundreds  of  feet 
below  at  the  base  of  the  precipice,  their  backs  broken 
under  their  aparejos.  The  boots  were  torn  from  the 
men's  feet,  their  hands  were  cut  with  sharp  rocks. 
They  marched  by  night  sometimes,  sometimes  by  day, 
always  to  the  limit  of  their  strength.  And  upon  the 
fourteenth  morning  they  came  upon  the  Chiricahua 
stronghold.  Without  the  scouts  they  could  never  have 
found  it.  The  Indian  has  betrayed  the  Indian  from  first 
to  last. 

It  was  a  little  pocket,  a  natural  fortress,  high  up  on  a 
commanding  peak.  Cairness  crept  forward  flat  along 
the  rocks,  raised  his  head  cautiously  and  looked  down. 
There  in  the  sunrise  light, —  the  gorgeous  sunrise  of  the 
southern  mountain  peaks  where  the  wind  is  fresh  out 
of  the  universe  and  glitters  and  quivers  with  sparks  of 
new  life, — there  was  the  encampment  of  the  hostiles. 
It  was  a  small  Eden  of  green  grass  and  water  and  trees 
high  up  in  the  Sierra  —  that  strange  mountain  chain 
that  seems  as  though  it  might  have  been  the  giant  model 
of  the  Aztec  builders,  and  that  holds  the  mystery  of  a 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  229 

mysterious  people  locked  in  its  stone  and  metal  breasts, 
as  securely  as  it  does  that  of  the  rich,  lost  mines  whose 
fabled  wonders  no  man  can  prove  to-day. 

There  is  a  majesty  about  the  mountains  of  the  deso- 
late regions  which  is  not  in  those  of  more  green  and 
fertile  lands.  Loneliness  and  endurance  are  written 
deep  in  their  clefts  and  canons  and  precipices.  In  the 
long  season  of  the  sun,  they  look  unshrinking  back  to 
the  glaring  sky,  with  a  stern  defiance.  It  is  as  the 
very  wrath  of  God,  but  they  will  not  melt  before  it. 
In  the  season  of  the  rains,  black  clouds  hang  low  upon 
them,  guarding  their  sullen  gloom.  But  just  as  in  the 
sternest  heart  is  here  and  there  a  spot  of  gentleness,  so 
in  these  forbidding  fastnesses  there  are  bits  of  verdure 
and  soft  beauty  too. 

And  the  Indian  may  be  trusted  to  know  of  these. 
Here  where  the  jacales  clustered,  there  was  grass  and 
wood  and  water  that  might  last  indefinitely.  The 
fortifications  of  Nature  had  been  added  to  those  of 
Nature's  man.  It  was  a  stronghold. 

But  the  Apaches  held  it  for  only  a  day,  for  all  that. 
They  were  unprepared  and  overconfident.  Their  bucks 
were  for  the  most  part  away  plundering  the  hapless 
Mexican  settlements  in  the  desert  below.  They  had 
thought  that  no  white  troops  nor  Mexicans  could  follow 
here,  and  they  had  neglected  to  count  with  the  scouts, 
who  had  been  hostiles  themselves  in  their  day,  and  who 
had  the  thief's  advantage  in  catching  a  thief.  And  so 
while  the  bucks  and  children  wandered  round  among 
the  trees  or  bathed  in  the  creek,  while  the  hobbled 


230 

ponies  grazed  leisurely  on  the  rank  grass,  and  the 
squaws  carried  fuel  and  built  fires  and  began  their  day 
of  drudgery,  they  were  surprised. 

The  fight  began  with  a  shot  fired  prematurely  by  one 
of  the  scouts,  and  lasted  until  nightfall  —  after  the 
desultory  manner  of  Indian  mountain  fights,  where  you 
fire  at  a  tree-trunk  or  lichen ed  rock,  or  at  some  black, 
red-bound  head  that  shoots  up  quick  as  a  prairie  dog's 
and  is  gone  again,  and  where  you  follow  the  tactics  of 
the  wary  Apache  in  so  far  as  you  may.  The  curious 
part  of  it  is  that  you  beat  him  at  his  own  game  every 
time.  It  is  always  the  troops  that  lose  the  least  heavily ! 

The  Indian  wars  of  the  southwest  have  been  made 
a  very  small  side  issue  in  our  history.  The  men  who 
have  carried  them  on  have  gained  little  glory  and  little 
fame.  And  yet  they  have  accomplished  a  big  task,  and 
accomplished  it  well.  They  have  subdued  an  enemy 
many  times  their  own  number.  And  the  enemy  has  had 
such  enormous  advantages,  too.  He  has  been  armed, 
since  the  70's,  even  better  than  the  troops.  He  has 
been  upon  his  own  ground  —  a  ground  that  was  alone 
enough  to  dismay  the  soldier,  and  one  that  gave  him 
food,  where  it  gave  the  white  man  death  by  starva- 
tion and  thirst.  He  knew  every  foot  of  the  country, 
fastnesses,  water  holes,  creeks,  and  strongholds  over 
thousands  of  miles.  The  best  cavalry  can  travel  con- 
tinuously but  twenty- five  or  thirty  miles  a  day,  carry- 
ing its  own  rations.  The  Apache,  stealing  his  stock 
and  food  as  he  runs,  covers  his  fifty  or  seventy-five. 
The  troops  must  find  and  follow  trails  that  are  disguised 


THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  231 

with  impish  craft.  The  Apache  goes  where  he  lists, 
and  that,  as  a  general  thing,  over  country  where  devils 
would  fear  to  tread. 

Then  throw  into  the  scale  the  harassing  and  conflict- 
ing orders  of  a  War  Department,  niggardly  with  its 
troops,  several  thousand  miles  away,  wrapped  in  a  dark 
veil  of  ignorance,  and  add  the  ever  ready  blame  of  the 
territorial  citizen  and  press,  and  the  wonder  is,  not  that 
it  took  a  score  of  years  to  settle  the  Apache  question, 
but  that  it  was  ever  settled  at  all. 

The  all-day  fight  in  the  Sierra  Madre  stronghold  was 
a  very  uneven  one.  There  were  two  hundred  and  fifty 
of  the  government  forces  against  some  thirty -five  bucks. 
But,  after  all,  the  number  comes  to  nothing.  You  may 
as  well  shoot  at  one  enemy  as  at  a  thousand,  if  he  is  not 
to  be  seen  anyway,  and  you  cannot  hit  him. 

Cairness  reflected  upon  this  as  he  fired  for  exactly 
the  seventh  time  at  a  pair  of  beady  eyes  that  flashed  at 
him  over  a  bush-topped  rock  by  the  creek,  not  five  and 
twenty  yards  away,  and  then  vanished  utterly.  There 
was  something  uncanny  about  it,  and  he  was  losing  pa- 
tience as  well  as  ammunition.  Three  bullets  from  a 
repeating  rifle  had  about  finished  him.  One  had  gone 
through  his  hat.  The  eyes  popped  up  again.  Cairness 
fired  again  and  missed.  Then  he  did  a  thoroughly  silly 
thing.  He  jumped  out  from  behind  his  shelter  and  ran 
and  leapt,  straight  down,  and  over  to  the  rock  by  the 
stream.  The  beady  eyes  saw  him  coming  and  sparkled, 
with  an  evil  sort  of  laughter. 

If  Cairness  had  not  slipped  and  gone  sprawling  down 


232  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UN  BEST 

at  that  moment,  the  fourth  bullet  would  have  brought 
him  up  short.  It  sung  over  him,  instead,  and  splashed 
against  a  stone,  and  when  he  got  to  his  feet  again  the 
eyes  had  come  out  from  their  hiding-place.  They  were 
in  the  head  of  a  very  young  buck.  He  had  sprung  to 
the  top  of  his  rock  and  was  dancing  about  with  defiant 
hilarity,  waving  his  hands  and  the  Winchester,  and 
grimacing  tantalizingly.  "  Yaw  !  ya !  "  he  screeched. 
Cairness  discharged  his  revolver,  but  the  boy  whooped 
once  more  and  was  down,  dodging  around  the  stone. 
Cairness  dodged  after  him,  wrath  in  his  heart  and  also 
a  vow  to  switch  the  little  devil  when  he  should  get  him. 
But  he  did  not  seem  to  be  getting  him. 

The  fighting  stopped  to  watch  the  Ojo-blanco  play- 
ing tag  with  the  little  Apache,  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
stronghold.  The  general  stood  still,  with  a  chuckle, 
and  looked  on.  "  Naughty  little  boy,"  he  remarked  to 
the  captain  of  the  scouts;  "  but  your  man  Cairness  won't 
catch  him,  though." 

With  the  sublime  indifference  to  the  mockery  of  the 
world,  characteristic  of  his  race,  Cairness  kept  at  it. 
It  was  ridiculous.  He  had  time  to  be  dimly  aware  of 
that.  And  it  certainly  was  not  war.  He  did  not 
know  that  they  were  affording  the  opposing  forces 
much  enjoyment.  He  had  not  even  observed  that  the 
firing  had  stopped.  But  he  meant  to  catch  that  much 
qualifiedly  impudent  little  beast,  or  to  know  the  reason 
why.  And  he  would  probably  have  known  the  reason 
why,  if  one  of  the  Apache  scouts,  embarrassed  by  no 
notions  of  fair  play,  had  not  taken  good  aim  and 


THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  233 

brought  his  youthful  kinsman  down,  with  a  bullet 
through  his  knee. 

The  black  eyes  snapped  with  pain  as  he  fell,  but 
when  Cairness,  with  a  breathless  oath  at  the  spoiler  of 
sport,  whoever  he  might  be,  pounced  down  upon  him, 
the  snap  turned  to  a  twinkle.  The  little  buck  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow.  "How!  Cairness,"  he  grinned. 
"  How  Mees  Landor?  "  Cairness  stopped  short,  speech- 
less, with  his  mouth  open.  He  did  not  even  dodge 
after  a  bullet  had  hummed  past  his  head.  "  Who  the 
devil  —  !  "  he  began.  Then  it  dawned  upon  him.  It 
was  Felipa's  prote'ge'  of  the  old  Camp  Thomas  days. 

He  was  standing,  and  the  boy  was  lying,  and  the  shots 
of  the  Apaches  flew  about  them.  He  stooped,  and 
catching  up  his  defeated  foe,  whose  defeat  was  not  half 
so  entire  as  his  own,  scrambled  out  of  the  pocket  and 
back  among  the  troops.  He  carried  his  prisoner,  who 
kicked  vigorously  with  his  good  leg,  and  struck  with 
both  fists  in  protest  against  the  ignominy  of  being  held 
under  anybody's  arm  like  a  sack  of  grain,  back  to  the 
tied  horses. 

"  Look  out  for  the  little  customer,  will  you  ?  "  he  said 
to  the  medical  officer.  "  He's  a  great  chum  of  mine. 
Many's  the  can  of  condensed  milk  and  bag  of  peanuts 
the  ungrateful  young  one  has  had  out  of  me."  "  What 
are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  asked  in  the  White  Mountain 
idiom;  "you  aren't  a  Chiricahua." 

The  boy  grinned  again.  "  How  Mees  Landor  ?  "  he 
repeated.  His  savage  perception  had  noted  that  those 
words  had  some  "  medicine  "  or  other  that  paralyzed 


234  THE  HEEITAGE  OF   UNKEST 

the  Ojo-blanco  temporarily.  Cairness  swore  at  him  in 
good  English,  and  went  off  abruptly. 

At  sunset  the  camp  surrendered.  There  were  seven 
dead  bucks  found,  but  no  one  ever  knew,  of  course, 
how  many  had  fallen  into  ravines,  or  dragged  them- 
selves off  to  die  in  nooks.  The  Apache  does  not  dread 
death,  but  he  dreads  having  the  White-man  know  that 
he  has  died. 

The  spoils  of  the  rancheria  were  varied,  and  some  of 
them  interesting  as  well.  There  were  quite  a  hundred 
mules  and  horses,  and  there  was  money,  to  the  sum  of 
five  thousand  dollars  or  more.  Also  there  were  gold 
and  silver  watches  and  clothes  and  saddles  and  bridles — 
all  the  loot  of  the  unhappy  haciendas  and  pueblas  down 
on  the  flat.  But  the  most  treasured  of  all  their  posses- 
sions was  a  little  photograph  album  which  had  begun 
its  varied  career  in  the  particular  home  of  the  mis- 
guided Indian  philanthropist,  Boston. 

There  was  human  plunder,  too  — women  from  the  vil- 
lages, all  Mexicans  but  one,  and  that  one  was  Ameri- 
can. Cairness,  having  gone  off  with  some  scouts  to 
reconnoitre,  did  not  see  them  that  night.  When  he 
came  back  it  was  already  dark,  and  he  took  his  supper ; 
and  rolling  himself  in  his  blanket  slept,  as  he  had 
always  for  the  past  fortnight,  with  only  the  faintly 
radiant  night  sky  above  him. 

In  the  morning,  while  the  cooks  were  getting  break- 
fast and  the  steam  of  ration-Rio  mounted  as  a  grate- 
ful incense  to  the  pink  and  yellow  daybreak  heavens, 
having  bathed  in  the  creek  and  elaborated  his  toilet 


THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST  235 

with  a  clean  neckerchief  in  celebration  of  victory,  he 
walked  over  to  the  bunch  of  tepees  to  see  the  women 
captives. 

He  knew  while  he  was  yet  afar  off  which  was  the 
American.  She  stood,  big  and  gaunt,  with  her  feet 
planted  wide  and  her  fists  on  her  hips,  looking  over 
toward  the  general's  tent.  And  when  Cairness  came 
nearer,  strolling  along  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
observing  the  beauties  of  Nature  and  the  entire  vile- 
ness  of  man,  she  turned  her  head  and  gave  him  a  defi- 
ant stare.  He  took  his  hands  from  his  pockets  and 
went  forward,  raising  his  disreputable  campaign  hat. 
"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Lawton,"  he  said,  not  that  he 
quite  lived  up  to  the  excellent  standard  of  Miss  Win- 
stanley,  but  that  he  understood  the  compelling  force  of 
civility,  not  to  say  the  bewilderment.  If  you  turn  its 
bright  light  full  in  the  face  of  one  whose  eyes  are 
accustomed  to  the  obscurity  wherein  walk  the  under- 
bred, your  chances  for  dazzling  him  until  he  shall  fall 
into  any  pit  you  may  have  dug  in  his  pathway  are 
excellent. 

Nor  was  he  disconcerted  that  she  met  him  with  a 
stony  front  and  a  glare  of  wrath.  She  glanced  down 
at  his  outstretched  hand,  and  kept  her  own  great  bony 
one  on  her  hip  still.  Then  she  looked  at  him  squarely 
again.  She  did  not  say  "  Well  ?  "  but  she  meant  it. 
So  he  answered  it  blandly,  and  suggested  that  she  had 
probably  forgotten  him,  but  that  he  had  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  meeting  her  once  in  the  States.  She  continued 
to  stare.  He  held  that  a  husband  is  a  husband  still 


236  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

until  the  law  or  death  says  otherwise,  and  that  it  was 
no  part  of  a  man's  business  to  inquire  into  the  domestic 
relations  of  his  friends  ;  so  he  said  that  he  had  had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  her  husband  recently.  "He 
was  at  Fort  Stanton,"  he  added,  "upon  some  little 
matter  of  business,  I  believe.  You  will  be  glad  to  hear 
that  he  was  well."  He  did  not  see  fit  to  add  that  he 
was  also  in  the  county  jail,  awaiting  trial  on  charge  of 
destruction  of  government  property. 

"  What's  your  name,  young  feller  ?  "  she  demanded. 
Cairness  was  hurt.  "Surely,  Mrs.  Lawton,  you  have 
not  so  entirely  forgotten  me.  I  am  Charles  Cairness, 
very  much  at  your  service."  But  she  had  forgotten, 
and  she  said  so. 

He  hesitated  with  a  momentary  compunction.  She 
must  have  suffered  pretty  well  for  her  sins  already; 
her  work-cut,  knotty  hands  and  her  haggard  face  and 
the  bend  of  her  erstwhile  too  straight  shoulders  —  all 
showed  that  plainly  enough.  It  were  not  gallant ;  it 
might  even  be  said  to  be  cruel  to  worry  her.  But  he 
remembered  the  dead  Englishwoman,  with  her  babies, 
stiff  and  dead,  too,  beside  her  on  the  floor  of  the  charred 
cabin  up  among  the  mountains,  and  his  heart  was 
hardened. 

"I  spent  a  few  days  with  the  Kirbys  once,"  he 
said,  and  looked  straight  into  her  eyes.  They  shifted, 
and  there  was  no  mistaking  her  uneasiness.  He  fol- 
lowed it  up  instantly  on  a  bold  hazard.  It  had  to  be 
done  now,  before  she  had  time  to  retreat  to  the  cover 
of  her  blank  stolidity.  "  Why  did  you  leave  them  to 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNKEST  237 

be  massacred  ?  What  did  you  have  against  her  and 
those  little  children  ?  " 

"I  didn't.  None  of  your  business,"  she  defied 
him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  he  said.  "  It  happens 
to  be  my  business,  though." 

Breakfast  call  sounded.  At  the  first  shrill  note  she 
started  violently.  She  was  very  thoroughly  unnerved, 
and  he  decided  that  an  hour  of  thinking  would  make 
her  worse  so.  He  told  her  that  he  would  see  her  after 
breakfast,  and  raising  his  hat  again  left  her  to  the  an- 
ticipation, and  to  helping  the  Mexican  captives  cook 
their  meal  of  mescal  root  and  rations. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  general  and  the  inter- 
preters were  engaged  in  making  clear  to  the  bucks, 
who  came  straggling  in  to  surrender,  the  wishes  and 
intentions  of  the  Great  Father  in  Washington  as  re- 
garded his  refractory  children  in  Arizona,  he  went 
back  to  the  captives'  tepee.  The  Texan  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  He  called  to  her  and  got  no  answer,  then 
he  looked  in.  She  was  not  there.  One  of  the  Mexican 
women  was  standing  by,  and  he  went  up  to  her  and 
asked  for  the  Gringa. 

The  woman  shrugged  her  round  brown  shoulders 
from  which  the  rebozo  had  fallen  quite  away,  and 
dropped  her  long  lashes.  "  No  se,"  she  murmured. 

"  Ay  que  si  !  You  do  know,"  he  laughed ;  "  you  tell 
me  chula,  or  I  will  take  you  back  to  the  United  States 
with  me." 

She  laughed  too,  musically,  with  a  bewitching  gurgle, 


238  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNKEST 

and  gave  him  a  swift  glance,  at  once  soft  and  sad. 
"Ella  es  muyfea,  no  es  simpatica,  la  G-ringa." 

Undoubtedly,  as  she  said,  the  American  was  ugly 
and  unattractive  ;  but  the  Mexican  was  pretty  and 
decidedly  engaging.  Cairness  had  been  too  nearly 
trapped  once  before  to  be  lured  now.  He  met  the  piece 
of  brown  femininity  upon  her  own  ground.  "You 
are  quite  right,  querida  mia.  She  is  ugly  and  old,  and 
you  are  beautiful  and  young,  and  I  will  take  you  with 
me  to  the  States  and  buy  a  pink  dress  with  lovely  green 
ribbons,  if  you  will  tell  me  where  the  old  woman  is." 

"  'Std'  bajo,"  she  stuck  out  her  cleft  chin  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  trail  that  led  out  of  the  pocket  down  to  the 
flat,  far  below. 

"  De  veras  ?  "  asked  Cairness,  sharply.  He  was  of  no 
mind  to  lose  her  like  this,  when  he  was  so  near  his  end. 

"  Truly,"  said  the  little  thing,  and  nodded  vehemently. 

He  left  her  ignominiously,  at  a  run.  She  stood 
laughing  after  him  until  he  jumped  over  a  rock  and 
disappeared.  " She  is  his  sweetheart,  the  vieja"  she 
chattered  to  her  companions. 

Cairness  called  to  four  of  his  scouts  as  he  ran.  They 
joined  him,  and  he  told  them  to  help  him  search.  In 
half  an  hour  they  found  her,  cowering  in  a  cranny  of 
rocks  and  manzanita.  He  dismissed  the  Indians,  and 
then  spoke  to  her.  "  Now  you  sit  on  that  stone  there 
and  listen  to  me,"  he  said,  and  taking  her  by  the  shoulder 
put  her  down  and  stood  over  her. 

She  kept  her  sullen  glance  on  the  ground,  but  she 
was  shaking  violently. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  239 

"  Your  husband  is  in  jail,"  he  said  without  preface. 
He  had  done  with  the  mask  of  civility.  It  had  served 
its  purpose. 

"No  he  ain't." 

"Yes  he  is.  And  I  put  him  there."  He  left  her  to 
what  he  saw  was  her  belief  that  it  was  because  of  the 
Kirby  affair.  "You'll  see  when  you  get  back.  And 
I'll  put  you  there,  too,  if  I  care  to.  The  best  chance 
you  have  is  to  do  as  I  tell  you." 

She  was  silent,  but  the  stubbornness  was  going  fast. 
She  broke  off  a  bunch  of  little  pink  blossoms  and  rolled 
it  in  her  hands. 

"  Your  best  chance  for  keeping  out  of  jail,  too,"  he 
insisted,  "  is  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  me.  Sale  ? 
Now  what  I  want  to  know  is,  what  part  Stone  has  in 
all  this."  He  did  not  know  what  part  any  one  had 
had  in  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  for  he  had  failed  in  all 
attempts  to  make  Lawton  talk,  in  the  two  days  he  had 
had  before  leaving  the  post. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  him  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Lawton,  astutely. 

"  Because  I  prefer  to  ask  you,  that's  why  —  and  to 
make  you  answer,  too." 

He  sat  down  cross-legged  on  the  ground,  facing  her. 
"  I've  got  plenty  of  time,  my  dear  woman.  I  can  stop 
here  all  day  if  you  can,  you  know,"  he  assured  her. 
Afterward  he  made  a  painting  of  her  as  she  had  sat 
there,  in  among  the  rocks  and  the  scrub  growth,  aged, 
bent,  malevolent,  and  in  garments  that  were  picturesque 
because  they  were  rags.  He  called  it  the  Sibyl  of  the 
Sierra  Madre.  And,  like  the  Trojan,  he  plied  her  with 


240  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

questions  —  not  of  the  future,  but  of  the  past.  "  Well," 
he  said,  "  are  you  going  to  answer  me  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  find  out  from  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  changed  his  position  leisurely,  stretching  out  at 
full  length  and  resting  his  head  on  his  hand  by  way  of 
gaining  time.  Then  he  told  her  that  it  was  not  until 
after  he  had  caught  and  landed  her  husband  that  he 
had  discovered  that  Stone  was  in  it. 

"  Who  told  you  he  was  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Never  mind  all  that.  I'm  here  to  question,  not  to 
be  questioned.  Now  listen  to  me."  And  he  went  on 
to  point  out  how  she  could  not  possibly  get  away  from 
him  and  the  troops  until  they  were  across  the  border, 
and  that  once  there,  it  lay  with  him  to  turn  her  over  to 
the  authorities  or  to  set  her  free.  "  You  can  take  your 
choice,  of  course.  I  give  you  my  word  —  and  I  think 
you  are  quite  clever  enough  to  believe  me  —  that  if  you 
do  not  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know  about  Stone,  I  will 
land  you  where  I've  landed  your  husband ;  and  that  if 
you  do,  you  shall  go  free  after  I've  done  with  you. 
Now  I  can  wait  until  you  decide  to  answer,"  and  he 
rolled  over  on  his  back,  put  his  arms  under  his  head, 
and  gazed  up  at  the  jewel-blue  patch  of  sky. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  A  hawk  lighted  on  a  point 
of  rock  and  twinkled  its  little  eyes  at  them.  Two  or 
three  squirrels  whisked  in  and  out.  Once  a  scout  came 
by  and  stood  looking  at  them,  then  went  on,  noiselessly, 
up  the  mountain  side. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  "  asked  the  woman, 
at  length. 


THE   HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  241 

He  repeated  that  he  was  not  there  to  be  questioned, 
and  showed  her  that  he  meant  it  by  silence. 

Presently  she  began  again.  "  Well,  he  wasn't  in  it 
at  all.  Stone  wasn't." 

This  was  not  what  Cairness  wanted  either.  He  per- 
sisted in  the  silence.  A  prolonged  silence  will  some- 
times have  much  the  same  effect  as  solitary  confinement. 
It  will  force  speech  against  the  speaker's  own  will. 

Mrs.  Lawton  gritted  her  teeth  at  him  as  though  she 
would  have  rejoiced  greatly  to  have  had  his  neck  be- 
tween them.  By  and  by  she  started  once  more. 
"  Bill  jest  told  him  about  it  —  like  a  goldarned  fool." 

"  That,"  said  Cairness,  cheerfully,  "  is  more  like  it. 
Go  on." 

"That's  all." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  it's  not  all." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  want  to  know,  then  ?  " 

He  considered.  "  Let  me  see.  For  instance,  when 
did  Lawton  tell  him,  and  why,  and  exactly  what  ?  " 

"  You  don't  say  !  "  she  mocked.  "  You  want  the 
earth  and  some  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  don't  you, 
though  ?  Well,  then,  Bill  told  him  about  a  week  after- 
ward. And  he  told  him  because  Stone  had  another 
hold  on  him  (it  ain't  any  of  your  business  what  that 
was,  I  reckon),  and  bullied  it  out  of  him  (Bill  ain't  got 
any  more  backbone  than  a  rattler),  and  promised  to 
lend  him  money  to  set  up  for  hisself  on  the  Circle  K 
Ranch.  Want  to  know  anything  else  ?  "  she  sneered. 

"  Several  things,  thanks.  You  haven't  told  me  yet 
what  version  of  it  your  husband  gave  to  Stone."  Cair- 


242  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

ness  was  a  little  anxious.  It  was  succeed  or  fail  right 
here. 

"  Told  him  the  truth,  more  idjit  he." 

"I  didn't  ask  you  that,"  he  reminded  her  calmly. 
"Tasked  what  he  told." 

"  Say  !  "  she  apostrophized. 

"Yes?" 

"  You're  English,  I  reckon,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  you  don't  like  the  English,  I  know  that 
perfectly. " 

"  You're  right,  I  don't.  You're  as  thick-headed  as  all 
the  rest  of  them." 

"  Thanks.  But  you  started  out  to  tell  me  what 
Lawton  told  Stone." 

"  He  told  him  the  truth,  I  tell  you  :  that  when  we 
heard  the  Apaches  were  coming,  we  lit  out  and  drove 
out  the  stock  from  the  corrals.  I  don't  recollect  his 
words." 

So  that  was  it !  It  took  all  the  self-command  that 
thirty-five  varied  years  had  taught  him  not  to  rise  up 
and  knock  her  head  against  the  sharp  rocks.  But  he 
lay  quite  still,  and  presently  he  said :  "  That  is  near 
enough  for  my  purposes,  thank  you.  But  I  would  be 
interested  to  know,  if  you  don't  mind,  what  you  had 
against  a  helpless  woman  and  those  two  poor  little 
babies.  I  wouldn't  have  supposed  that  a  woman  lived 
who  could  have  been  such  a  fiend  as  all  that." 

The  woman  launched  off  into  a  torrent  of  vitupera- 
tion and  vile  language  that  surprised  even  Cairness* 
whose  ears  were  well  seasoned. 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  243 

"  Shut  up  !  "  he  commanded,  jumping  to  his  feet. 
"You  killed  her  and  you  ought  to  be  burned  at  the 
stake  for  it,  but  you  shall  not  talk  about  her  like  that, 
you  devilish  old  crone." 

She  glared  at  him,  but  she  stopped  short  neverthe- 
less, and,  flinging  down  the  stone  she  had  been  holding, 
stood  up  also.  "All  right,  then.  You've  done  with 
me,  I  reckon.  Now  suppose  you  let  me  go  back  to 
the  camp." 

He  turned  and  walked  beside  her.  "Don't  you 
believe  I  know  all  that  I  want  to.  I've  only  just 
begun.  So  that  scoundrel  knew  the  whole  murderous 
story,  and  went  on  writing  lies  in  his  papers  and  cov- 
ering you,  when  you  ought  to  have  been  hung  to  the 
nearest  tree,  did  he  ?  —  and  for  the  excellent  reason 
that  he  wanted  to  make  use  of  your  husband  !  I 
worked  on  the  Circle  K  Ranch  and  on  that  other  one 
over  in  New  Mexico,  which  is  supposed  to  be  Lawton's, 
and  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  find  out  that  Stone  was 
the  real  boss." 

"  He's  got  Bill  right  under  his  thumb,"  she  sneered 
at  her  weak  spouse. 

They  clambered  up  the  mountain  side,  back  to  the 
camp,  and  Cairness  escorted  her  to  the  tepee  in 
silence.  Then  he  left  her.  "  Don't  try  to  run  away 
again,"  he  advised.  "You  can't  get  far."  He  started 
off  and  turned  back.  "  Speaking  of  running  away, 
where's  the  Greaser  you  lit  out  with  ? " 

She  replied,  with  still  more  violent  relapse  into 
foul-tongued  abuse,  that  he  had  gone  off  with  a  woman 


244  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

of  his  own  people.  "Got  me  down  into  this  hell  of 
a  country  and  took  every  quartillo  I  had  and  then 
skedaddled." 

Cairness  smiled.  There  was,  it  appeared,  a  small 
supply  of  poetic  justice  still  left  in  the  scheme  of  things 
to  be  meted  out.  "  And  then  the  Apache  came  down 
and  bore  you  off  like  a  helpless  lamb,"  he  said.  "  If 
I'd  been  the  Apache  I'd  have  made  it  several  sorts  of 
Hades  for  you,  but  I'd  have  scalped  you  afterward. 
You'd  corrupt  even  a  Chiricahua  squaw.  However, 
I'm  glad  you  lived  until  I  got  you."  And  he  left  her. 

But  he  kept  a  close  watch  upon  her  then  and  during 
all  the  hard,  tedious  march  back  to  the  States,  when 
the  troops  and  the  scouts  had  to  drag  their  steps  to 
meet  the  strength  of  the  women  and  children  ;  when 
the  rations  gave  out  because  there  were  some  four  hun- 
dred Indians  to  be  provided  for,  when  the  command 
ate  mescal  root,  digging  it  up  from  the  ground  and 
baking  it ;  and  when  the  presence  of  a  horde  of  filthy 
savages  made  the  White-man  suffer  many  things  not  to 
be  put  in  print. 

But  they  were  returning  victorious.  The  Chiri- 
cahuas  were  subdued.  The  hazard  had  turned  well. 
There  would  be  peace  ;  the  San  Carlos  Agency,  breed- 
ing-grounds of  all  ills,  would  be  turned  over  to  military 
supervision.  The  general  who  had  succeeded — if  he 
had  failed  it  would  have  been  such  a  very  different 
story  —  would  have  power  to  give  his  promise  to  the 
Apaches  and  to  see  that  it  was  kept.  The  experiment 
of  honesty  and  of  giving  the  devil  his  due  would  have  a 


THE   HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  245 

fair  trial.  The  voices  that  had  cried  loudest  abuse 
after  the  quiet  soldier  who,  undisturbed,  went  so 
calmly  on  his  way,  doing  the  thing  which  seemed  to 
him  right,  were  silenced  ;  and  the  soldier  himself  came 
back  into  his  own  land,  crossing  the  border  with  his 
herds  and  his  tribes  behind  him.  There  was  no  flour- 
ish of  trumpets  ;  no  couriers  were  sent  in  advance 
to  herald  that  the  all  but  impossible  had  been  accom- 
plished. 

On  a  fine  Sunday  morning  in  June  the  triumphant 
general  rode  into  a  supply  camp  twelve  miles  north  of 
the  line,  and  spoke  to  the  officer  in  command.  "  Nice 
morning,  Colonel,"  he  said.  And  then  his  quick  eyes 
spied  the  most  desirable  thing  in  all  the  camp.  It  was 
a  tin  wash  basin  set  on  a  potato  box.  The  triumphant 
general  dismounted,  and  washed  his  face. 


XX 

THERE  was  peace  and  harmony  in  the  home  of  the 
Reverend  Taylor.  An  air  of  neatness  and  prosperity 
was  about  his  four-room  adobe  house.  The  mocking- 
bird that  hung  in  a  willow  cage  against  the  white  wall, 
by  the  door,  whistled  sweet  mimicry  of  the  cheep  of 
the  little  chickens  in  the  back  yard,  and  hopped  to  and 
fro  and  up  and  down  on  his  perches,  pecking  at  the 
red  chili  between  the  bars.  From  the  corner  of  his 
eyes  he  could  peek  into  the  window,  and  it  was  bright 
with  potted  geraniums,  white  as  the  wall,  or  red  as  the 
chili,  or  pink  as  the  little  crumpled  palm  that  patted 
against  the  glass  to  him. 

He  whistled  more  cheerily  yet  when  he  saw  that 
small  hand.  He  was  a  tame  mocking-bird,  and  he  had 
learned  to  eat  dead  flies  from  it.  That  was  one  of 
the  greatest  treats  of  his  highly  satisfactory  life.  The 
hand  left  the  window  and  presently  waved  from  the 
doorway. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  stood  there  with  his  son  in  his 
arms.  The  mocking-bird  trilled  out  a  laugh  to  the 
evening  air.  It  was  irresistible,  so  droll  that  even 
a  bird  must  know  it,  —  the  likeness  between  the  little 
father  and  the  little  son.  There  was  the  same  big 
head  and  the  big  ears  and  the  big  eyes  and  the  body 

246 


THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  247 

that  was  too  small  for  them  all,  a  little,  thin  body, 
active  and  quivering  with  energy.  There  were  the 
very  same  wrinkles  about  the  baby's  lids,  crinkles  of 
good  humor  and  kindly  tolerance,  and  the  very  same 
tufts  of  hair  running  the  wrong  way  and  sticking  out 
at  the  temples. 

The  tufts  were  fuzzy  yellow  instead  of  gray,  and  the 
miniature  face  had  not  yet  grown  tanned  and  hard 
with  the  wind  and  the  sun,  but  those  were  mere  de- 
tails. The  general  effect  was  perfect.  There  was  no 
mistaking  that  the  lively  fraction  of  humanity  in  the 
Reverend  Taylor's  arms  was  the  little  Reverend. 
That  was  the  only  name  he  went  by,  though  he  had 
been  christened  properly  on  the  day  he  was  six  months 
old,  Joshua  for  his  father  and  Randolph  for  his  mother, 
in  memory  of  Virginia,  and  her  own  long  maidenhood. 
She  was  herself  a  Randolph,  and  she  wanted  the  fact 
perpetuated.  But  in  Tombstone,  Joshua  Randolph 
Taylor  was  simply  the  little  Reverend. 

The  little  Reverend  was  the  first  thing  on  earth  to 
his  father.  For  the  wife  had  made  that  step  in  ad- 
vance, which  is  yet  a  step  in  descent  in  a  woman's  life, 
when  she  becomes  to  her  husband  less  herself  than  the 
mother  of  his  child. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  grabbed  at  a  fly  and  caught 
it  in  his  palm.  He  had  become  very  expert  at  this, 
to  his  wife's  admiration  and  his  son's  keen  delight.  It 
was  because  the  little  Reverend  liked  to  see  him  do  it, 
and  derived  so  much  elfish  enjoyment  from  the  trick, 
that  he  had  perfected  himself  in  it.  He  gave  the 


248  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

crushed  fly  to  the  baby,  and  held  him  up  to  feed  the 
bird.  The  bird  put  its  head  through  the  bars  and 
pecked  with  its  whiskered  bill,  and  the  little  Reverend 
gurgled  joyfully,  his  small  face  wrinkling  up  in  a 
way  which  was  really  not  pretty,  but  which  his  father 
thought  the  most  engaging  expression  in  the  world. 

The  puppy  which  had  been  born  the  same  day  as  the 
little  Reverend,  a  beast  half  coyote,  half  shepherd,  and 
wholly  hideous,  came  and  sat  itself  down  beside  them 
on  the  sill,  looked  up  with  its  tongue  hanging  out  to 
one  side,  and  smiled  widely.  The  beaming  good  nature 
of  the  two  Reverends  was  infectious.  The  baby  squealed 
gleefully,  and  kicked  until  it  was  set  down  on  the  door- 
step to  pat  the  dog. 

Presently  the  nurse  came,  a  big,  fat  Mexican  woman, 
with  all  her  people's  love  of  children  showing  on  her 
moon  face  as  she  put  out  her  arms.  She  had  been  with 
the  Taylors  since  before  the  baby's  birth,  and  she  had 
more  of  its  affection  than  the  mother. 

The  little  Reverend  understood  only  Spanish,  and  his 
few  words,  pronounced  with  a  precision  altogether  in 
keeping  with  his  appearance,  were  Spanish  ones.  The 
old  nurse  murmured  softly,  as  she  took  him  up,  "  Quieres 
leche  hombrecito,  quieres  cenar  ?  El  chuchu  tiene  hambre 
tambien.  Vamos  d  ver  mamd." 

The  little  Reverend  was  not  to  be  blandished.  He 
was  willing  to  go  because  it  was  his  supper  time  and 
he  knew  it,  but  the  big-eyed  look  of  understanding  he 
turned  up  to  the  gentle,  fat  face  said  plainly  enough  that 
he  was  too  wise  a  creature  to  be  wheedled.  He  sub- 


THE   HERITAGE  OP  UNREST  249 

mitted  to  be  carried  in,  but  lie  cast  a  regretful  glance 
at  the  "  chuchu,"  which  sat  still  in  the  doorway,  and 
at  his  father,  who  was  watching  the  line  of  flying  ants 
making  their  way,  a  stream  of  red  bodies  and  sizzing 
white  wings,  out  of  the  window  and  across  the  street. 

They  had  been  doing  that  for  three  days.  They 
came  down  the  chimney,  made  across  the  floor  in  a  line 
that  never  changed  direction,  nor  straggled,  nor  les- 
sened, up  the  wall  and  out  a  crack  in  the  window. 
They  did  no  harm,  but  followed  blindly  on  in  the  path 
the  first  one  had  taken.  And  the  minister  had  said 
they  should  not  be  smoked  back  or  thwarted. 

The  little  Reverend  had  been  much  interested  in  them 
also.  He  had  sat  for  several  hours  sucking  an  empty 
spool,  and  observing  them  narrowly,  in  perfect  silence. 
His  father  had  great  hopes  of  him  as  a  naturalist. 

Finally  the  minister  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  down 
the  street.  It  was  almost  empty,  save  for  two  men  in 
high-heeled  top  boots  and  sombreros  who  sat  in  chairs 
tilted  back  against  the  post-office  wall,  meditating  in 
mutual  silence.  The  only  sounds  were  the  rattling  of 
dishes  over  in  his  mother-in-law's  restaurant  across  the 
street,  and  the  sleepy  cheeping  of  the  little  chickens 
in  his  own  back  yard,  as  they  cuddled  under  their 
mother's  wing. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  was  about  to  go  to  the  coops 
and  close  them  for  the  night,  when  he  saw  a  man  and 
a  woman  on  horseback  coming  up  the  street.  The 
woman  was  bending  forward  and  swaying  in  her  sad- 
dle. He  stood  still  and  watched.  The  red  sunset 


250  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

blaze  was  in  his  face  so  that  he  could  not  see  plainly 
until  they  were  quite  near.  Then  he  knew  that  it  was 
Cairness  and  —  yes,  beyond  a  doubt  —  Bill  Lawton's 
runaway  wife. 

They  halted  in  front  of  him,  and  the  woman  swayed 
again,  so  much  that  he  ran  to  her  side.  But  she  righted 
herself  fiercely.  Cairness  was  dismounted  and  was 
beside  her,  too,  in  an  instant.  He  lifted  her  from  the 
horse,  pulled  her  down,  more  or  less  ;  she  was  much  too 
ungainly  to  handle  with  any  grace. 

"May  I  take  her  in  ?"  he  said,  nodding  toward  the 
open  door. 

"Surely,"  said  the  minister,  "surely."  There  might 
have  been  men  who  would  have  remembered  that  Mrs. 
Lawton  was  a  tough  woman,  even  for  a  mining  town, 
and  who  would  in  the  names  of  their  own  wives  have 
refused  to  let  her  cross  the  threshold  of  their  homes. 
But  he  saw  that  she  was  ill,  and  he  did  not  so  much  as 
hesitate. 

Cairness  put  his  arm  around  the  big  angular  shoul- 
ders and  helped  her  into  the  sitting  room.  She  dropped 
down  upon  the  sofa,  and  sat  there,  her  head  hanging, 
but  in  sullenness,  not  humility. 

Mrs.  Taylor  came  to  the  dining-room  door  and  looked 
in.  "  Can  I  do  anything  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Come  in,"  said  her  husband.  He  was  pouring  out 
a  drink  of  whiskey. 

She  came  and  stood  watching,  asking  no  questions, 
while  the  woman  on  the  sofa  gulped  down  the  raw 
whiskey  and  gave  back  the  glass. 


THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  251 

Cairness  had  gone  out  to  hitch  the  horses.  When  he 
came  in  he  spoke  to  Mrs.  Lawton,  as  one  possessed  of 
authority.  He  told  her  to  lie  down  if  she  wanted  to. 
"  With  your  leave,  Mrs.  Taylor  ?  "  he  added.  Mrs. 
Taylor  was  already  beside  her,  fussing  kindly  and 
being  met  with  scant  courtesy. 

Cairness  took  the  Reverend  Taylor  to  the  door. 
"  You  know  that  is  Bill  Lawton's  wife  ?  "  he  said. 

Taylor  nodded. 

"  The  one  who  sloped  with  the  Greaser  ?  " 

The  parson  nodded  again. 

"  Do  you  object  to  taking  her  into  your  house  for  a 
short  time  ?  " 

The  Reverend  Taylor  did  not  object. 

"  And  your  wife  ?  " 

"  She  will  shrink,  I  guess,  at  first,"  he  admitted. 
"  Women  who  ain't  seen  much  of  life  kind  of  think 
they  ought  to  draw  aside  their  skirts,  and  all  that. 
They  were  taught  copy-book  morals  about  touching 
pitch,  I  reckon,"  —  he  was  wise  concerning  women  now 
— "  and  it  takes  a  good  deal  of  hard  experience  to 
teach  them  that  it  ain't  so.  But  she'll  take  my  word 
for  it." 

"  She  is  ill,  you  see  ?  " 

The  parson  had  seen. 

"  She  may  be  ill  some  time.  Would  it  be  asking  too 
much  of  you  to  look  after  her  ?  "  The  bachelor  showed 
in  that. 

Taylor  realized  from  the  Benedict's  greater  knowl- 
edge that  it  was  asking  a  great  deal,  but  still  not 


252  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

too  much.  He  assured  Cairness  that  she  should  be 
cared  for. 

"  She  was  a  captive  among  the  Chiricahuas  up  in  the 
Sierra  Madre.  She's  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  That  and 
the  return  march  have  been  too  much  for  her." 

The  parson  expressed  pity  —  and  felt  it,  which  is 
more. 

"  Yes,"  Cairness  said,  "  of  course  it's  hard  luck,  but 
she's  deserved  it  all,  and  more  too.  You  may  as  well 
know  the  whole  thing  now.  It's  only  fair.  She  and 
her  husband  were  the  cause  of  the  Kirby  massacre. 
Drove  off  the  stock  from  the  corrals  and  left  them  no 
escape." 

His  teeth  set.  The  little  man  gasped  audibly. 
"  Good  God  !  "  he  said,  "  I  —  "  he  stopped. 

"  I  rather  thought  that  might  be  too  much  for  even 
you,"  said  Cairness. 

"  No,  no  ;  it's  a  good  deal,  but  it  ain't  too  much. 
Not  that  it  could  be  more,  very  well,"  he  added,  and 
he  glanced  furtively  at  the  woman  within,  who  had 
stretched  out  on  the  lounge  with  her  face  to  the  wall. 
Mrs.  Taylor  was  fanning  her. 

"  You  will  still  keep  her  then  ?  "  Cairness  wished  to 
know. 

He  would  still  keep  her,  yes.  But  he  did  not  see 
that  it  would  be  in  the  least  necessary  to  tell  his  wife 
the  whole  of  the  woman's  iniquity.  It  took  quite  all 
his  courage,  after  they  had  gotten  her  safely  in  bed,  to 
remind  her  that  this  was  the  same  woman  who  had  gone 
off  with  the  Mexican. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  253 

Mrs.  Taylor  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  simply 
looked  at  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  he,  questioningly,  setting  his  mouth.  It 
answered  to  the  duellist's  "  On  guard  !  "  She  had  seen 
him  set  his  mouth  before,  and  she  knew  that  it  meant 
that  he  was  not  to  be  opposed.  Nevertheless  there  was 
a  principle  involved  now.  It  must  be  fought  for.  And 
it  would  be  the  first  fight  of  their  marriage,  too.  As  he 
had  told  Cairness  once,  she  was  very  amiable. 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  "  I  think  you  have  done  an 
unspeakable  thing,  that  is  all." 

"  Such  as  —  " 

"To  have  brought  an  abandoned  woman  into  our 
home." 

"If  her  presence  blackens  the  walls,  we  will  have 
them  whitewashed." 

But  she  was  not  to  be  turned  off  with  levity.  It 
was  a  serious  matter,  involving  consequences  of  the 
sternest  sort.  Mrs.  Taylor  was  of  the  class  of  minds 
which  holds  that  just  such  laxities  as  this  strike  at  the 
root  of  society.  "  It  is  not  a  joke,  Joshua.  She  pollutes 
our  home." 

"  Are  you  afraid  she  will  contaminate  me  ? "  he 
asked.  He  was  peering  at  her  over  the  top  of  a  news- 
paper. 

She  denied  the  idea  emphatically. 

"  Baby,  then  ?  " 

Equally  absurd. 

"  Or  the  nurse  ?  " 

It  was  too  foolish  to  answer. 


254  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

"  Then,"  said  the  Reverend  Taylor,  laying  down  the 
paper,  "you  must  be  scared  for  yourself." 

"  Never  !  "  she  declared ;  it  was  merely  because  she 
could  not  breathe  the  same  air  with  that  creature. 

"  I  wonder,  my  dear,  what  sort  of  air  you  breathed  in 
your  mother's  restaurant  at  meal  times  ?  " 

Mrs.  Taylor  was  silent.     Her  pop  blue  eyes  shifted. 

"Trouble  is,"  he  went  on  evenly,  "trouble  is,  that, 
like  most  women,  you've  been  brought  up  to  take  copy- 
book sentiments  about  touchin'  pitch,  and  all  that,  lit- 
eral. You  don't  stop  to  remember  that  to  eat  with 
unwashen  hands  defileth  not  a  man.  If  she  can't  do 
you  any  harm  spiritually,  she  certainly  ain't  got  the 
strength  to  do  it  physically.  I  can't  say  as  I'd  like  to 
have  her  about  the  place  all  the  time  unless  she  was 
going  to  reform,  —  and  I  don't  take  much  stock  in 
change  of  heart,  with  her  sort,  —  because  she  wouldn't 
be  a  pleasant  companion,  and  it  ain't  well  to  counte- 
nance vice.  But  while  she's  sick,  and  it  will  oblige 
Cairness,  she  can  have  the  shelter  of  my  manta.  You 
think  so  too,  now,  don't  you  ?  "  he  soothed. 

But  she  was  not  sure  that  she  thought  so.  She 
wanted  to  know  why  the  woman  could  not  be  sent  to 
the  hotel,  and  he  explained  that  Cairness  wished  a  very 
close  watch  kept  on  her  until  she  was  able  to  be  up. 
Curiosity  got  the  better  of  outraged  virtue  then. 
"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  and  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

But  the  Reverend  Taylor's  lips  set  again,  and  he 
shrugged  his  narrow  shoulders.  "I'm  not  certain 
•nyself,"  he  said  shortly. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  255 

An  eminent  student  of  the  sex  has  somewhere  said 
that  women  are  like  monkeys,  in  that  they  are  imita- 
tive. The  comparison  goes  further.  There  is  a  certain 
inability  in  a  monkey  to  follow  out  a  train  of  thought, 
or  of  action,  to  its  conclusion,  which  is  shared  by  the 
major  part  of  womankind.  It  is  a  feminine  character- 
istic to  spend  life  and  much  energy  on  side  issues.  The 
lady  forgot  almost  all  about  her  original  premise.  She 
wished  especially  to  know  that  which  no  power  upon 
earth  would  induce  her  lord  to  tell. 

He  took  up  his  paper  again.  "  He  ain't  told  me  the 
whole  thing  yet,"  he  said. 

She  wished  to  hear  as  much  as  he  had  confided. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  shook  his  head.  "  I  may  tell 
you  sometime,  but  not  now.  In  the  meanwhile  I'm 
sure  you  think  we  had  better  keep  Mrs.  Lawton  here, 
don't  you  now  ?  " 

She  did  not.     She  would  as  lief  touch  a  toad. 

"Ain't  it  funny  how  narrow-minded  some  good 
women  can  be,  though  ?  "  he  speculated,  looking  at  her 
very  much  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  looking  at  his  speci- 
mens. And  he  quoted  slowly,  as  if  he  were  saying  over 
the  names  and  family  characteristics  of  a  specimen. 

" '  And  though  I  bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor, 
and  though  I  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  and  have  not 
charity,  it  profiteth  me  nothing.'  I  wonder  how  many 
women  who  have  lived  up  to  every  word  of  the  Deca- 
logue have  made  it  all  profitless  for  want  of  a  little 
charity  ?  " 

She  asked,  with  the  flat  Virginia  accent  of  the  vowels, 


256  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

if  he  would  like  her  to  go  and  embrace  the  woman,  and 
request  her  to  make  their  home  henceforth  her  own. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  wouldn't  like  you  to,  and  she 
wouldn't  want  it,  I  reckon."  He  dropped  back  into  his 
usual  speech.  "She  ain't  any  repentant  sinner,  by  a 
good  deal.  But  as  Cairness  wants  me  to  keep  an  eye  on 
her,  and  as  she's  sick,  I  wish  you  to  let  her  stay  in  the 
house,  and  not  to  make  a  rumpus  about  it.  If  you 
really  don't  like  to  go  near  her,  though,"  he  finished, 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  I'll  take  her  in  her  food 
myself,  and  nurse  can  clean  out  her  room." 

Perhaps  the  Scripture  texts  had  taught  their  lesson, 
or  perhaps  there  yet  lingered  a  hope  of  learning  that 
which  her  husband  would  not  tell.  Anyway,  for  the 
week  which  the  woman  lay  on  the  cot  in  the  little 
whitewashed  chamber,  which  had  no  outlet  save 
through  the  sitting  room  where  some  one  was  always 
on  guard  night  and  day,  Mrs.  Taylor  served  her  with  a 
good  enough  grace. 

When  she  was  able  to  be  up,  Cairness  went  in  to  see 
her.  She  was  sitting  on  a  chair,  and  looking  sulkily 
out  of  the  window.  "  You  got  me  jailed  all  right,"  she 
sneered,  "  ain't  you  ?  "  and  she  motioned  to  the  grating 
of  iron. 

"  You  can  go  whenever  you  like  now,"  Cairness  told 
her.  She  demanded  to  know  where  she  was  to  go  to, 
and  he  answered  that  that  was  not  his  affair,  but  that 
he  would  suggest  a  safe  distance.  "  Somebody  else 
getting  hold  of  the  truth  of  the  Kirby  business  mightn't 
be  so  easy  on  you  as  I  am." 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  TJNREST  257 

"  How  do  I  know  you're  done  with  me  yet  ?  "  she 
snapped. 

He  told  her  that  she  didn't  know  it,  because  he 
was  not ;  and  then  he  explained  to  her.  "  What  I  want 
of  you  now  is  for  you  to  come  over  with  Taylor  and 
me  to  see  Stone." 

She  jumped  to  her  feet.     "I  ain't  going  to  do  it." 

"  Yes,"  he  assured  her  unmoved,  "  you  are.  At 
least  you  are  going  to  do  that,  or  go  to  jail." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  to  Stone  ?  " 

"Nothing  much,"  he  told  her.  He  and  Taylor 
could  take  care  of  the  talking.  Her  part  would  be 
just  to  stand  by  and  pay  attention. 

"  And  after  that  ?  " 

"  After  that,  as  I  said  before,  you  may  go." 

He  suggested  that  the  sooner  she  felt  that  she  could 
go  the  better,  as  she  had  been  a  good  deal  of  a  burden 
to  the  Taylors. 

She  laughed  scornfully.  "  It  ain't  me  that  asked  them 
to  take  me  in,"  she  said  ;  "  I'm  as  glad  to  go  as  they  are 
to  have  me."  She  wore  a  calico  wrapper  that  Cairness 
had  bought  for  her,  and  other  garments  that  had  been 
gathered  together  in  the  town.  Now  she  put  a  battered 
sombrero  on  her  head,  and  told  him  she  was  ready. 

He  and  the  parson  followed  her  out  of  the  house. 
She  had  not  cared  to  say  good-by  to  Mrs.  Taylor,  and 
she  glared  at  the  little  Reverend,  who  balanced  him- 
self on  his  uncertain  small  feet  and  clutched  at  a  chair, 
watching  her  with  his  precocious  eyes  and  an  expres- 
sion combined  of  his  mother's  virtuous  disapproval 


258  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

and  his  father's  contemplative  scrutiny,  the  while  the 
tufts  of  his  hair  stood  out  stiffly. 

The  Reverend  Taylor  and  Cairness  had  managed, 
with  a  good  deal  of  adroitness,  to  keep  the  identity  of 
their  patient  a  secret.  Stone  was  consequently  not  at 
all  prepared  to  have  her  stride  in  upon  him.  But  he 
was  not  a  man  to  be  caught  exhibiting  emotions.  The 
surprise  which  he  showed  and  expressed  was  of  a 
perfectly  frank  and  civil,  even  of  a  somewhat  pleased, 
sort.  He  called  her  "  my  dear  madam,"  and  placed 
a  chair  for  her.  She  sat  in  it  under  protest.  He  kept 
up  the  social  aspect  of  it  all  for  quite  five  minutes, 
but  sociability  implies  conversation,  and  Cairness 
and  the  minister  were  silent.  So  was  the  woman  — 
rigidly. 

When  all  his  phrases  were  quite  used  up,  Stone 
changed  the  key.  What  could  be  done  for  Mr.  Taylor  ? 
Mr.  Taylor  motioned  with  his  usual  urbanity  that  the 
burden  of  speech  lay  with  Cairness.  What  could  he 
do  for  Mr.  Cairness,  then  ? 

"Well,"  said  Cairness,  twisting  at  the  small  mus- 
tache, and  levelling  his  eyes  straight  as  the  barrels  of  a 
shot-gun  —  and  they  gave  the  journalist  a  little  of  the 
same  sensation  —  "I  think, Mr.  Stone, that  you  can  get 
out  of  the  country  within  the  next  three  days." 

Stone  did  not  understand.  He  believed  that  he 
missed  Mr.  Cairness's  meaning.  "  I  don't  think  you 
do,"  said  Cairness  ;  "  but  I'll  make  it  plainer,  anyway. 
I  want  you  to  get  out  of  the  country,  for  the  country's 
good,  you  know,  and  for  your  own.  And  I  give  you 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  259 

three  days  to  do  it  in,  because  I  don't  wish  to  hurry 
you  to  an  inconvenient  extent." 

Stone  laughed  and  inquired  if  he  were  joking,  or  just 
crazy. 

"  Neither,"  drawled  Cairness.  "  But  Mrs.  Lawton, 
here,  has  been  good  enough  to  tell  me  that  you  have 
known  the  exact  truth  about  the  Kirby  massacre  ever 
since  a  week  after  its  occurrence,  and  yet  you  have 
shielded  the  criminals  and  lied  in  the  papers.  Then,  too," 
he  went  on,  "  though  there  is  no  real  proof  against  you, 
and  you  undoubtedly  did  handle  it  very  well,  I  know 
that  it  was  you  that  set  Lawton  on  to  try  and  bribe 
for  the  beef  contract.  You  see  your  friends  are 
unsafe,  Mr.  Stone,  and  I  have  been  around  yours  and 
Lawton's  ranches  enough  to  have  picked  up  a  few 
damaging  facts." 

"Always  supposing  you  have,"  interposed  Stone, 
hooking  his  thumbs  in  his  sleeve  holes  and  tipping  back 
his  chair,  "  always  supposing  you  have,  what  could  you 
do  with  the  facts  ?  " 

"Well,"  drawled  Cairness  again,  —  he  had  learned 
the  value  of  the  word  in  playing  the  Yankee  game  of 
bluff,  —  "  with  those  about  the  beef  contract  and  those 
about  the  Kirby  massacre,  also  a  few  I  gathered 
around  San  Carlos  (you  may  not  be  aware  that  I  have 
been  about  that  reservation  off  and  on  for  ten  years), 
with  those  facts  I  could  put  you  in  the  penitentiary, 
perhaps,  even  with  an  Arizona  jury ;  but  at  any  rate  I 
could  get  you  tarred  and  feathered  or  lynched  in  about 
a  day.  Or  failing  all  those,  I  could  shoot  you  myself. 


260  THE   HEKITAGE   OF   UNREST 

And  a  jury  would  acquit  me,  you  know,  if  any  one 
were  ever  to  take  the  trouble  to  bring  it  before  one, 
which  is  doubtful,  I  think." 

Stone  glanced  at  the  Lawton  woman.  She  was  grin- 
ning mirthlessly  at  his  discomfiture.  "  What  have  you 
been  stuffing  this  fellow  here  with  ? "  he  asked  her 
contemptuously. 

"  Just  what  he's  dishin'  up  to  you  now,"  she  told 
him. 

"It's  a  lot  of  infernal  lies,  and  you  know  it."  But 
she  only  shook  her  head  and  laughed  again,  shortly. 

Stone  made  a  very  creditable  fight.  A  man  does  not 
throw  up  the  results  of  years  of  work  without  a  strong 
protest.  He  treated  it  lightly,  at  first,  then  seriously. 
Then  he  threatened.  "  I've  got  a  good  deal  of  power 
myself,"  he  told  Cairness  angrily  ;  "  I  can  roast  you  in 
the  press  so  that  you  can't  hold  up  your  head." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can,"  Cairness  said ;  "  but  you 
might  try  it,  if  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure.  Only 
you  must  make  haste,  because  you've  got  to  get  out  in 
three  days." 

"  I  can  shoot,  myself,  when  it  comes  to  that,"  sug- 
gested Stone. 

Cairness  said  that  he  would  of  course  have  to  take 
chances  on  that.  "  You  might  kill  me,  or  I  might 
kill  you.  I'm  a  pretty  fair  shot.  However,  it  wouldn't 
pay  you  to  kill  me,  upon  the  whole,  and  you  must  take 
everything  into  consideration."  He  was  still  twisting 
the  curled  end  of  his  small  mustache  and  half  closing 
his  eyes  in  the  way  that  Stone  had  long  since  set  down 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  261 

as  asinine.  "  My  friend  Mr.  Taylor  would  still  be 
alive.  And  if  you  were  to  hurt  him,  —  he's  a  very 
popular  man,  —  it  might  be  bad  for  your  standing  in  the 
community.  It  wouldn't  hurt  me  to  kill  you,  particu- 
larly, on  the  other  hand.  You  are  not  so  popular 
anyway,  and  I  haven't  very  much  to  lose." 

Then  the  journalist  tried  entreaty.  He  had  a  wife 
and  children. 

Cairness  reminded  him  that  Kirby  had  had  a  wife 
and  children,  too. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  kill  them,  did  I  ?  "  he  whined. 

"  Not  exactly,  no.  But  you  were  an  accessory  after 
the  fact." 

"  Why  are  you  so  all-fired  anxious  to  vindicate  the 
law  ?  "  He  dropped  easily  into  phrases. 

Cairness  assured  him  that  he  was  not.  "It  is  not 
my  mission  on  earth  to  straighten  out  the  territories, 
heaven  be  praised.  This  is  purely  a  personal  matter, 
entirely  so.  You  may  call  it  revenge,  if  you  like. 
Lawton's  in  jail  all  safe,  as  you  know.  I  got  him 
there,  and  if  he  gets  out  anyway,  I'll  put  him  back 
again  on  this  count." 

Mrs.  Lawton  started  forward  in  her  chair.  "  What's 
he  in  for  now  ?  Ain't  it  for  this  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  For  destruction  of  government  property,"  Cairness 
told  her,  and  there  was  just  the  faintest  twinkle 
between  his  lids.  "I  didn't  know  all  these  interest- 
ing details  about  the  Kirbys  until  you  told  me,  Mrs. 
Lawton." 

She  sat  with  her  jaw  hanging,  staring  at  him,  baffled, 


262  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

and  he  went  on.  "  I've  got  Lawton  jailed,  as  I  was 
saying.  I'll  have  you  out  of  the  country  in  three  days, 
and  as  for  Mrs.  Lawton,  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  her.  I'll 
know  where  she  is,  in  case  I  need  her  at  any  time. 
But  I'm  not  fighting  women." 

He  stood  up.  "  I'll  see  you  off  inside  of  three  days 
then,  Stone,"  he  said  amicably. 

"  Where  do  you  want  me  to  go  ?  "  he  almost  moaned, 
and  finished  with  an  oath. 

"  Anywhere  you  like,  my  dear  chap,  so  that  it's 
neither  in  Arizona  or  New  Mexico.  I  want  to  stop 
here  myself,  and  the  place  isn't  big  enough  for  us  both. 
You'll  be  a  valuable  acquisition  to  any  community,  and 
you  can  turn  your  talent  to  showing  up  the  life  here. 
You  are  right  on  the  inside  track.  Now  I  won't  ask 
you  to  promise  to  go.  But  I'll  be  round  to  see  that 
you  do." 

He  held  the  door  open  for  the  Texan  woman  and 
the  parson  to  go  out.  Then  he  followed,  closing  it 
behind  him. 

Two  days  later  Stone  left  the  town.  He  took  the 
train  for  California,  and  his  wife  and  children  went 
with  him.  He  was  a  rich  man  by  many  an  evil  means, 
and  it  was  no  real  hardship  that  had  been  worked  him, 
as  Cairness  well  knew. 

The  Lawton  woman  had  heard  of  an  officer's  family 
at  Grant,  which  was  in  need  of  a  cook,  and  had  gone 
there. 

"And  now,"  said  the  Reverend  Taylor,  fingering 
the  lock  of  hair  over  the  little  Reverend's  right  ear, 


THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  263 

as  that  wise  little  owl  considered  with  uncertain  ap- 
proval a  whistle  rattle  Cairness  had  bought  for  him, 
"  and  now  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Cairness  stood  up,  ran  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
and  going  over  to  the  window  looked  down  at  the 
geraniums  as  he  had  done  once,  long  before. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  my  ranch  on  the  reservation," 
he  said  measuredly. 

"  Cairness,"  said  the  parson,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  the 
back  of  the  bent  head,  as  if  they  were  trying  to  see 
through  into  the  impenetrable  brain  beneath,  "  are 
you  going  to  spend  the  rest  of  your  life  at  this  sort 
of  thing  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Cairness  answered,  with  a  lightness 
that  was  anything  but  cheering. 

"  You  are  too  good  for  it." 

"  I  am  certainly  not  good  enough  for  anything  else." 
He  began  to  whistle,  but  it  was  not  a  success,  and  he 
stopped. 

"  See  here,"  insisted  Taylor ;  "  turn  round  here 
and  answer  me."  Cairness  continued  to  stand  with 
his  head  down,  looking  at  the  geraniums.  The  parson 
was  wiser  than  his  wife  in  that  he  knew  when  it  was  of 
no  use  to  insist.  "  What's  keeping  you  around  here, 
anyway?  You  ought  to  have  gotten  out  when  you 
left  the  service  —  and  you  half  meant  to  then.  What 
is  it?" 

Cairness  raised  his  shoulders.  "  My  mines,"  he  said, 
after  a  while.  The  Reverend  Taylor  did  not  believe 
that,  but  he  let  it  go. 


264  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNKEST 

"  Well,"  hie  said  more  easily,  "  you've  accomplished 
the  thing  you  set  out  to  do,  anyway." 

"  One  thing,"  muttered  Cairness. 

"  Eh  ?  "  the  parson  was  not  sure  he  had  heard. 

"Just  nothing,"  Cairness  laughed  shortly,  and  break- 
ing off  one  of  the  treasured  geranium  blossoms,  stuck 
it  in  a  buttonhole  of  his  flannel  shirt. 

"I  heard  you,"  said  the  little  man;  "what's  the 
other  ?  " — "  Oh,  I  dare  say  I'll  fail  on  that,"  he  answered 
indifferently,  and  taking  up  his  sombrero  went  out  to 
saddle  his  horse. 


XXI 

THE  civilization  of  the  Englishman  is  only  skin  deep. 
And  therein  lies  his  strength  and  his  salvation.  Beneath 
that  outer  surface,  tubbed  and  groomed  and  prosperous, 
there  is  the  man,  raw  and  crude  from  the  workshops  of 
Creation.  Back  of  that  brain,  trained  to  a  nicety  of 
balance  and  perception  and  judgment,  there  are  the 
illogical  passions  of  a  savage.  An  adaptation  of  the 
proverb  might  run  that  you  scratch  an  Englishman  and 
you  find  a  Briton  —  one  of  those  same  Britons  who 
stained  themselves  blue  with  woad,  who  fell  upon  their 
foes  with  clumsy  swords  and  flaming  torches,  who  wore 
the  skins  of  beasts,  and  lived  in  huts  of  straw,  and  who 
burned  men  and  animals  together,  in  sacrifice  to  their 
gods. 

And  the  savage  shows,  too,  in  that  your  Englishman 
is  not  gregarious.  His  house  is  his  castle,  his  life  is  to 
himself,  and  his  sentiments  are  locked  within  him.  He 
is  a  lonely  creature,  in  the  midst  of  his  kind,  and  he 
loves  his  loneliness. 

But  it  is  because  of  just  this  that  no  scion  of  ultra- 
civilization  degenerates  so  thoroughly  as  does  he.  Ret- 
rogression is  easy  to  him.  He  can  hardly  go  higher, 
because  he  is  on  the  height  already;  but  he  can  slip  back. 
Set  him  in  a  lower  civilization,  he  sinks  one  degree 

265 


266  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

lower  than  that.  Put  him  among  savages,  and  he  is 
nearer  the  beasts  than  they.  It  does  not  come  to  pass 
in  a  day,  nor  yet  at  all  if  he  be  part  of  a  community, 
which  keeps  in  mind  its  traditions  and  its  church,  and 
which  forms  its  own  public  opinion.  Then  he  is  the 
leaven  of  all  the  measures  of  meal  about  him,  the  surest, 
steadiest,  most  irresistible  civilizing  force.  But  he  can- 
not advance  alone.  He  goes  back,  and,  being  cursed 
with  the  wisdom  which  shows  him  his  debasement,  in 
loathing  and  disgust  with  himself,  he  grows  sullen  and 
falls  back  yet  more. 

It  was  so  with  Cairness.  He  was  sinking  down,  and 
ever  down,  to  the  level  of  his  surroundings  ;  he  was  even 
ceasing  to  realize  that  it  was  so.  He  had  begun  by 
studying  the  life  of  the  savages,  but  he  was  so  entirely 
grasping  their  point  of  view  that  he  was  losing  all  other. 
He  was  not  so  dirty  as  they  —  not  yet.  His  stone  cabin 
was  clean  enough,  and  their  villages  were  squalid.  A 
morning  plunge  in  the  river  was  still  a  necessity,  while 
with  them  it  was  an  event.  But  where  he  had  once 
spent  his  leisure  in  reading  in  several  tongues — in  keep- 
ing in  touch  with  the  world  —  and  in  painting,  he  would 
now  sit  for  hours  looking  before  him  into  space,  thinking 
unprofitable  thoughts.  He  lived  from  hand  to  mouth. 
Eventually  he  would  without  doubt  marry  a  squaw. 
The  thing  was  more  than  common  upon  the  frontier. 

He  was  in  a  manner  forgetting  Felipa.  He  had  forced 
himself  to  try  to  do  so.  But  once  in  a  way  he  remem- 
bered her  vividly,  so  that  the  blood  would  burn  in  his 
heart  and  head,  and  he  would  start  up  and  beat  off  the 


THE   HEKITAGE   OF   UNREST  267 

thought,  as  if  it  were  a  visible  thing.  It  was  happen- 
ing less  and  less  often,  however.  For  two  years  he  had 
not  seen  her  and  had  heard  of  her  directly  only  once. 
An  officer  who  came  into  the  Agency  had  been  with  her, 
but  having  no  reason  to  suppose  that  a  scout  could  be 
interested  in  the  details  of  the  private  life  of  an  officer's 
wife,  he  had  merely  said  that  she  had  been  very  ill,  but 
was  better  now.  He  had  not  seen  fit  to  add  that  it  was 
said  in  the  garrison  —  which  observed  all  things  with 
a  microscopic  eye  —  that  she  was  very  unhappy  with 
Landor,  and  that  the  sympathy  was  not  all  with  her. 

"  Mrs.  Landor  is  very  beautiful,"  Cairness  hazarded. 
He  wanted  to  talk  of  her,  or  to  make  some  one  else 
do  it. 

"She  is  very  magnificent,"  said  the  officer,  coldly. 
It  was  plain  that  magnificence  was  not  what  he  admired 
in  woman.  And  there  it  had  dropped. 

Cairness  remembered  with  an  anger  and  disgust  with 
himself  he  could  still  feel,  that  last  time  he  had  seen  her 
in  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  That  had  been  two  springs 
ago.  Since  then  there  had  been  no  occupation  for  him 
as  a  guide  or  scout.  The  country  had  been  at  peace. 
The  War  Department  and  the  Indian  Department 
were  dividing  the  control  of  the  Agency,  with  the  War 
Department  ranking.  Crook  had  been  trying  his 
theories  as  practice.  He  had  been  demonstrating  that 
the  Indian  can  work,  with  a  degree  of  success  that  was 
highly  displeasing  to  the  class  of  politicians  whose 
whole  social  fabric  for  the  southwest  rested  on  his 
only  being  able  to  kill. 


268  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

But  the  star  of  the  politician  was  once  more  in  the 
ascendant.  For  two  years  there  had  been  not  one  dep- 
redation, not  one  outrage  from  the  Indians,  for  whose 
good  conduct  the  general  had  given  his  personal  word. 
They  were  self-supporting,  and  from  the  products  of 
their  farms  they  not  only  kept  themselves,  but  sup- 
plied the  neighboring  towns.  It  was  a  state  of  affairs 
entirely  unsatisfactory  to  the  politician.  So  he  set 
about  correcting  it. 

His  methods  were  explained  to  Cairness  by  an  old 
buck  who  slouched  up  to  the  cabin  and  sat  himself 
down  cross-legged  in  front  of  the  door.  He  meant  to 
share  in  the  venison  breakfast  Cairness  was  getting 
himself. 

"  So  long  as  these  stones  of  your  house  shall  remain 
one  upon  the  other,"  began  the  Apache,  "  so  long  shall 
I  be  your  friend.  Have  you  any  tobacco  ?  "  Cairness 
went  into  the  cabin,  got  a  pouch,  and  tossed  it  to  him. 
He  took  a  package  of  straw  papers  and  a  match  from 
somewhere  about  himself  and  rolled  a  cigarette  deftly. 

"  I  have  been  lied  to,"  came  the  muttering  voice 
from  the  folds  of  the  red  I.  D.  blanket,  which  almost 
met  the  red  flannel  band  binding  down  his  coarse  and 
dirty  black  hair.  It  was  early  dawn  and  cold.  Cair- 
ness himself  was  close  to  the  brush  fire. 

"I  have  been  cheated." 

Cairness  nodded.     He  thought  it  very  likely. 

"  The  Sun  and  the  Darkness  and  the  Winds  were 
all  listening.  He  promised  to  pay  me  dos  reales  each 
day.  To  prove  to  you  that  I  am  now  telling  the  truth, 


THE  HEEITAGB  OF  UNEEST  269 

here  is  what  he  wrote  for  me."  He  held  it  out  to  Cair- 
ness,  a  dirty  scrap  of  wrapping-paper  scrawled  over 
with  senseless  words. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cairness,  examining  it,  "  but  this  has  no 
meaning." 

"  That  is  a  promise,"  the  Indian  insisted,  "  to  pay  me 
dos  reales  a  day  if  I  would  cut  hay  for  him." 

The  White  explained  carefully  that  it  was  not  a  con- 
tract, that  it  was  nothing  at  all,  in  fact. 

"  Then  he  lied,"  said  the  buck,  and  tucked  the  scrap 
back  under  his  head  band.  "  They  all  lie.  I  worked 
for  him  two  weeks.  I  worked  hard.  And  each  night 
when  I  asked  him  for  money  he  would  say  to  me  that 
to-morrow  he  would  pay  me.  When  all  his  hay  was 
cut  he  laughed  in  my  face.  He  would  pay  me  noth- 
ing." He  seemed  resigned  enough  about  it. 

Cairness  gave  a  grunt  that  was  startlingly  savage  — 
so  much  so  that  he  realized  it,  and  shook  himself 
slightly  as  a  man  does  who  is  trying  to  shake  himself 
free  from  a  lethargy  that  is  stealing  over  him. 

"  And  then,  there  was  the  trouble  about  the  cows. 
They  promised  us  one  thousand,  and  they  gave  us  not 
quite  six  hundred.  And  those  —  the  Dawn  and  the 
Sky  hear  that  what  I  tell  you  is  true  —  and  those  were 
so  old  we  could  not  use  them." 

Cairness  nodded.  He  knew  that  the  Interior  Depart- 
ment had  sent  an  agent  out  to  investigate  that  com- 
plaint, and  that  the  agent  had  gone  his  way  rejoicing 
and  reporting  that  all  was  well  with  the  Indian  and 
honest  with  the  contractor.  It  was  not  true.  Every 


270  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

one  who  knew  anything  about  it  knew  that.  Cairness 
supposed  that  also  was  the  work  of  the  politicians. 
But  there  are  things  one  cannot  make  plain  to  a  savage 
having  no  notions  of  government. 

The  buck  went  on,  the  while  he  held  a  piece  of  veni- 
son in  his  dirty  hand  and  dragged  at  it  with  his  teeth, 
to  say  that  there  was  a  feeling  of  great  uneasiness  upon 
the  reservation. 

The  Chiricahuas  could  see  that  there  was  trouble  be- 
tween the  officials,  both  military  and  civil,  and  the  gov- 
ernment. They  did  not  know  what  it  was.  They  did 
not  understand  that  the  harassed  general,  whose  word 
—  and  his  alone  —  had  their  entire  belief,  nagged  and 
thwarted,  given  authority  and  then  prevented  from  en- 
forcing it,  had  rebelled  at  last,  had  asked  to  be  relieved, 
and  had  been  refused.  But  they  drew  in  with  delight 
the  air  of  strife  and  unrest.  It  was  the  one  they  loved 
best,  there  could  and  can  be  no  doubt  about  that. 

"  Geronimo,"  mumbled  the  Apache,  "  has  prayed  to 
the  Dawn  and  the  Darkness  and  the  Sun  and  the  Sky 
to  help  him  put  a  stop  to  those  bad  stories  that  people 
put  in  the  papers  about  him.  He  is  afraid  it  will  be 
done  as  they  say."  The  press  of  the  country  was  full  just 
then,  and  had  been  for  some  time  past,  of  suggestions 
that  the  only  good  use  the  much-feared  Geronimo  could 
be  put  to  would  be  hanging,  the  which  he  no  doubt 
richly  deserved.  But  if  every  one  in  the  territories  who 
deserved  hanging  had  been  given  his  dues,  the  land 
would  have  been  dotted  with  blasted  trees. 

"  Geronimo  does  not  want  that  any  more.     He  has 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  TJNKEST  271 

tried  to  do  right.  He  is  not  thinking  bad.  Such  stories 
ought  not  to  be  put  in  the  newspapers." 

Cairness  also  thought  that  they  should  not,  chiefly 
because  they  had  a  tendency  to  frighten  the  timid 
Apaches.  But  he  went  on  quietly  eating  his  breakfast, 
and  said  nothing.  He  knew  that  only  silence  can 
obtain  loquacity  from  silent  natures.  He  was  holding 
his  meat  in  his  fingers,  too,  and  biting  it,  though  he  did 
not  drag  it  like  a  wild  beast  yet ;  and,  moreover,  he 
had  it  upon  a  piece  of  bread  of  his  own  baking. 

"There  will  be  trouble  with  Geronimo's  people 
soon." 

"  Shall  you  go  with  them  ?  "  asked  Cairness. 

"  No,  I  am  a  friend  of  the  soldier.  And  I  am  a  friend 
of  Chato,  who  is  the  enemy  of  Geronimo.  I  have  no 
bad  thoughts,"  he  added  piously. 

"  And  you  think  there  will  be  trouble  ?  "  He  knew 
that  the  buck  had  come  there  for  nothing  but  to  inform. 

"I  think  that  Geronimo  will  make  trouble.  He 
knows  that  the  agent  and  the  soldiers  are  quarrelling, 
and  he  and  his  people  have  been  drinking  tizwin  for 
many  days." 

Cairness  stood  up  and  walked  down  to  the  water  to 
wash  his  hands.  Then  he  went  into  the  cabin  and 
brought  out  a  small  mirror,  and  all  the  shaving  appara- 
tus he  had  not  used  for  months,  and  proceeded  to  take 
off  his  thick  brown  beard,  while  the  Indian  sat  stolidly 
watching  him  with  that  deep  interest  in  trifles  of  the 
primitive  brain,  which  sees  and  marks,  and  fails  to  learn 
or  to  profit  correspondingly. 


272  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

And  later  in  the  day,  when  the  buck  had  shuffled  off 
again,  Cairness  brought  out  his  pony,  —  a  new  one  now, 
for  the  little  pinto  one  had  died  of  a  rattlesnake  bite, 
from  which  no  golondrina  weed  had  been  able  to  save 
it,  —  and  saddled  it.  Then  he  went  again  into  the 
cabin.  There  was  but  one  thing  there  that  he  valued, — 
a  life-size  head  of  Felipa  he  had  done  in  charcoal.  It 
was  in  a  chest  beneath  his  cot.  He  locked  his  chest, 
and  going  out  locked  the  door  also,  and  putting  both 
keys  upon  a  ring,  mounted  and  rode  off  along  the  trail. 

It  was  his  intention  to  go  to  Crook  and  to  warn  him 
if  he  needed  warning,  which  was  not  probable,  since  he 
was  never  napping.  He  would  then  offer  his  services 
as  a  scout.  He  was  sincerely  attached  to  the  general, 
and  felt  his  own  career  in  a  way  involved  with  that 
of  the  officer,  because  he  had  been  with  him,  in  one 
capacity  or  another,  in  every  campaign  he  had  made  in 
the  southwest. 

Already  he  felt  more  respectable  at  the  mere  prospect 
of  contact  with  his  kind  again.  He  was  glad  that  the 
unkempt  beard  was  gone,  and  he  was  allowing  himself 
to  hope,  no,  he  was  deliberately  hoping,  that  he  would 
see  Felipa. 


XXII 

HE  failed  in  the  warning.  He  had  barely  gotten  off 
the  reservation  before  Geronimo  and  Nachez  and  their 
sympathizers  broke  out  and  started  to  reach  again  that 
fastness  in  the  Sierra  Madre  from  which  they  had  been 
routed  two  years  before.  But  he  succeeded  without 
the  least  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  position  of  chief  of 
scouts. 

And  he  succeeded  in  seeing  Felipa.  It  was  most 
unexpected.  He  had  believed  her  to  be  in  Stanton,  a 
good  many  hundred  miles  away.  But  Landor  having 
been  sent  at  once  into  the  field,  she  had  come  on  to 
Grant  to  visit  the  Campbells,  who  were  again  stationed 
there.  He  met  her  face  to  face  only  once,  and  he 
measured  with  one  quick  look  all  the  changes  there 
were  between  the  girl  of  ten  years  before  and  the 
woman  of  to-day.  The  great,  sad  pity  that  rose  within 
him,  and  seemed  to  grasp  at  his  throat  chokingly,  was 
the  best  love  he  had  felt  for  her  yet.  It  wiped  out  the 
wrong  of  the  short  madness  in  the  cave's  mouth. 

She  was  quite  alone,  wandering  among  the  trees  and 
bushes  in  the  creek  bottom,  and  her  hands  were  full  of 
wild  flowers.  She  had  pinned  several  long  sprays  of 
the  little  ground  blossoms,  called  "  baby-blue  eyes,"  at 
her  throat,  and  they  lay  along  her  white  gown  prettily. 
T  273 


274  THE  HEKITAGE   OF   UNREST 

She  stopped  and  spoke  to  him,  with  a  note  of  lifeless- 
ness  in  her  high,  sweet  voice;  and  while  he  answered 
her  question  as  to  what  he  had  been  doing  since  she 
had  seen  him  last,  she  unpinned  the  "  baby -blue  eyes  " 
and  held  them  out  to  him.  "  Would  you  like  these  ?  " 
she  asked  simply.  He  took  them,  and  she  said 
"  Good-by  "  and  went  on. 

She  was  broken  to  the  acceptance  of  the  inevitable 
now,  —  he  could  see  that,  any  one  could  see  it.  She  had 
learned  the  lesson  of  the  ages  —  the  futility  of  struggle 
of  mere  man  against  the  advance  of  men.  That  it  had 
been  a  hard  lesson  was  plain.  It  showed  in  her  face, 
where  patience  had  given  place  to  unrest,  gentleness 
to  the  defiance  of  freedom.  She  had  gained,  too,  she 
had  gained  greatly.  She  was  not  only  woman  now, 
she  was  womanly.  But  Cairness  did  not  need  to  be 
told  that  she  was  not  happy. 

He  went  on  the  next  day  with  his  scouts,  and  even- 
tually joined  Landor  in  the  field.  Landor  was  much 
the  same  as  ever,  only  more  gray  and  rather  more 
deeply  lined.  Perhaps  he  was  more  taciturn,  too,  for 
beyond  necessary  orders  he  threw  not  one  word  to  the 
chief  of  scouts.  Cairness  could  understand  that  the 
sight  of  himself  was  naturally  an  exasperation,  and  in 
some  manner  a  reproach,  too.  He  was  sorry  that  he 
had  been  thrown  with  this  command,  but,  since  he  was, 
it  was  better  that  Landor  should  behave  as  he  was 
doing.  An  assumption  of  friendliness  would  have 
been  a  mockery,  and  to  some  extent  an  ignoble  one. 

Landor's    troop,   with   one    other,   was   in   the    San 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  275 

Andres  Mountains  of  New  Mexico  when  Cairness 
joined  it.  They  were  on  the  trail  of  a  large  band  of 
renegades,  and  it  led  them  through  the  mountains, 
across  the  flats,  and  down  to  the  lava  beds. 

Once  in  the  aeons  which  will  never  unfold  their  se- 
crets now,  when  the  continent  of  the  Western  seas  was 
undreamed  of  by  the  sages  and  the  philosophers  of  the 
Eastern  world,  when  it  was  as  alone,  surrounded  by  its 
wide  waters,  as  the  planets  are  alone  in  their  wastes  of 
space,  when  it  was  living  its  own  life,  —  which  was  to 
leave  no  trace  upon  the  scroll  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
ages,  —  the  mountains  and  the  bowels  of  the  earth 
melted  before  the  wrath  of  that  same  Lord  whose  voice 
shook  the  wilderness  of  Judaea.  At  His  bidding  they 
ran  as  water,  and  poured  down  in  waves  of  seething 
fire,  across  the  valley  of  death. 

It  is  a  valley  of  death  now,  parched  and  desolate,  a 
waste  of  white  sand  —  the  dry  bone  dust  of  the  cycles. 
But  then,  when  the  lava  came  surging  and  boiling  and 
flaming  across  the  plain,  not  a  thin  stream,  but  a  wide, 
irresistible  current,  there  was  life ;  there  was  a  city  — 
one  city  at  least.  It  is  there  now,  under  the  mass  of 
sharp,  gray,  porous  rock ;  how  much  of  it  no  one 
knows.  But  it  is  there,  and  it  has  given  up  its  un- 
availing hints  of  a  life  which  may  have  been  older  than 
that  of  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii,  and  is  as  much  more 
safely  hidden  from  the  research  of  the  inquiring  day 
as  its  walls  are  more  hopelessly  buried  beneath  the 
ironlike  stone  than  are  those  of  the  cisalpine  cities 
beneath  their  ashen  drift. 


276  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

And  the  great  river  of  rock  is  there,  too,  frozen  upon 
the  land  like  some  devouring  monster  changed  by  a 
Gorgon  head  into  lifeless  stone.  It  is  a  formidable 
barrier  across  the  hardly  less  formidable  bad  lands.  It 
can  be  crossed  in  places  where  it  is  narrowest,  not 
quite  a  mile  in  width,  that  is.  But  horses  slip  and 
clamber,  and  men  cut  through  the  leather  of  their 
heaviest  shoes. 

If  the  sea,  whipping  in  huge  waves  against  the  fury 
of  a  typhoon,  were  to  become  on  the  instant  rocks,  it 
would  be  as  this.  There  are  heights  and  crevasses, 
hills  and  gulches,  crests  and  hollows,  little  caves  and 
crannies,  where  quail  and  snakes  and  cotton-tails  and 
jack-rabbits,  lizards  and  coyotes,  creatures  of  desolation 
and  the  barrens,  hide  and  scamper  in  and  out.  It  is 
an  impregnable  stronghold,  not  for  armies,  because  they 
could  not  find  shelter,  but  for  savages  that  can  scatter 
like  the  quail  themselves,  and  writhe  on  their  bellies 
into  the  coyotes'  own  holes. 

And  so  the  hostiles  took  shelter  there  from  the  cav- 
alry that  had  pursued  them  hard  across  the  open  all 
night,  and  gave  battle  after  the  manner  of  their  kind. 
It  was  a  very  desultory  sort  of  a  skirmish,  for  the 
troops  did  not  venture  into  the  traps  beyond  the  very 
edge,  and  the  Indians  were  simply  on  the  defensive. 
It  was  not  only  desultory,  it  promised  to  be  unavailing, 
a  waste  of  time  and  of  ammunition. 

The  Chiricahuas  might  stay  there  and  fire  at  intervals 
as  long  as  they  listed,  killing  a  few  men  perhaps.  And 
then  they  might  retreat  quite  safely,  putting  the  barrier 


THE   HERITAGE   OP   UNREST  277 

between  themselves  and  the  pursuers.  Obviously  there 
were  only  two  courses  wherein  lay  any  wisdom,  —  to 
retreat,  or  to  cut  off  their  retreat.  Landor  said  so  to 
the  major  in  command. 

"  And  how,  may  I  ask,  would  you  suggest  cutting  off 
their  retreat  ? "  the  major  inquired  a  little  sharply. 
His  temper  was  not  improved  by  the  heat  and  by 
twelve  hours  in  the  saddle. 

It  was  certainly  not  apparent,  on  the  face  of  it,  how 
the  thing  was  to  be  done,  but  the  captain  explained. 
"  I've  been  stationed  here,  you  know,  and  I  know  the 
roads.  We  are  about  a  half  a  mile  or  more  from  where 
the  Stanton  road  to  the  railway  crosses  the  lava.  It  is 
narrow  and  rough,  and  about  from  three-quarters  of 
a  mile  to  a  mile  wide,  but  cavalry  can  go  over  it  with- 
out any  trouble.  I  can  take  my  troop  over,  and  then 
the  Indians  will  be  hemmed  in  between  us.  We  might 
capture  the  whole  band." 

The  major  offered  the  objection  that  it  would  be 
foolhardy,  that  it  would  be  cutting  through  the  enemy 
by  file.  "  They'll  pick  you  off,  and  you'll  be  absolutely 
at  their  mercy,"  he  remonstrated.  "  No,  I  can't  hear 
of  it." 

"  Suppose  you  let  me  call  for  volunteers,"  suggested 
Landor.  He  was  sure  of  his  own  men,  down  to  the 
last  recruit. 

The  major  consented  unwillingly.  "  It's  your  look- 
out. If  you  come  out  alive,  I  shall  be  surprised,  that's 
all.  Take  some  scouts,  too,"  he  added,  as  he  lit  a  cigar 
and  went  on  with  his  walk  up  and  down  among  his  men. 


278  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

The  entire  command  volunteered,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  Landor  had  his  pick.  He  took  thirty  men 
and  a  dozen  scouts.  Cairness  rode  up  and  offered 
himself.  They  looked  each  other  full  in  the  face  for 
a  moment.  "  Very  well,"  said  Landor,  and  turned  on 
his  heel.  Cairness  was  properly  appreciative,  despite 
the  incivility.  He  knew  that  Landor  could  have 
refused  as  well  as  not,  and  that  would  have  annoyed 
and  mortified  him.  He  was  a  generous  enemy,  at  any 
rate.  The  volunteers  mounted  and  trotted  off  in  a 
cloud  of  dust  that  hung  above  them  and  back  along 
their  trail,  to  where  the  road,  as  Landor  had  said, 
entered  the  malpais. 

Just  at  the  edge  of  the  rock  stream  there  was  an 
abandoned  cabin  built  of  small  stones.  Whatever  sort 
of  roof  it  had  had  in  the  beginning  was  now  gone 
altogether,  and  the  cabin  itself  was  tumbling  down. 
Through  the  doorway  where  there  was  no  door,  there 
showed  a  blackened  fireplace.  Once  when  a  party 
from  the  post  had  been  taking  the  two  days'  drive  to 
the  railroad,  they  had  stopped  here,  and  had  lunched  in 
the  cabin.  Landor  remembered  it  now,  and  glanced  at 
the  place  where  Felipa  had  reclined  in  the  shade  of  the 
walls,  upon  the  leather  cushion  of  the  ambulance  seat. 
She  very  rarely  could  be  moved  to  sing,  though  she 
had  a  sweet,  plaintive  voice  of  small  volume  ;  but  this 
time  she  had  raised  her  tin  mug  of  beer  and,  looking 
up  to  the  blue  sky,  had  launched  into  the  "  Last  Ca- 
rouse," in  a  spirit  of  light  mockery  that  fitted  with  it 
well,  changing  the  words  a  little  to  the  scene. 


THE   HEKITAGE  OF  UNKEST  279 

"  We  meet  'neath  the  blazing  heavens, 
And  the  walls  around  are  bare ; 
They  shout  back  our  peals  of  laughter, 
And  it  seems  that  the  dead  are  there. 
Then  stand  to  your  glasses  steady, 
We  drink  to  our  comrades'  eyes 
One  cup  to  the  dead  already. 
Hurrah !  for  the  next  that  dies." 

"Hurrah!  for  the  next  that  dies,"  thought  Lan- 
dor  himself,  with  a  careless  cynicism.  The  barrel  of 
a  Winchester  gleamed  above  a  point  of  rock,  a  little 
sharp  sparkle  of  sunlight  on  steel,  and  a  bullet  deflected 
from  the  big  leather  hood  of  his  stirrup.  He  rode  on 
calmly,  and  his  horse's  shoes  clicked  on  the  lava. 

The  men  followed,  sitting  erect,  toes  in.  They 
might  have  been  on  mounted  inspection  except  for  the 
field  clothes,  stained  and  dusty.  They  were  to  go  down 
a  narrow  path  for  close  on  a  mile,  between  two  rows  of 
rifle  barrels,  and  that  not  at  a  run  or  a  gallop,  but  at  a 
trot,  at  the  most,  for  the  lava  was  slippery  as  glass  in 
spots.  They  were  willing  enough  to  do  it,  even  anx- 
ious—  not  that  there  was  any  principle  involved,  or 
glory  to  be  gained,  but  because  their  blood  was  up  and 
it  was  part  of  the  chances  of  the  game. 

They  were  not  destined  to  get  beyond  the  first  fifty 
yards,  nevertheless.  The  rifle  that  had  fired  at  Landor 
as  he  came  upon  the  malpais  went  glistening  up  again. 
There  was  a  puff  of  blue-hearted  smoke  in  the  still  air, 
and  Cairness's  bronco,  struck  on  the  flanks,  stung  to 
frenzy,  stopped  short,  then  gathering  itself  together  with 
every  quivering  sinew  in  a  knot,  after  the  way  of  its 


280  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

breed,  bounded  off  straight  in  among  the  jagged  boul- 
ders. It  was  all  done  in  an  instant,  and  almost  before 
Landor  could  see  who  had  dashed  ahead  of  him  the  horse 
had  fallen,  neck  to  the  ground,  throwing  its  rider  with 
his  head  against  a  point  of  stone. 

Landor  did  not  stop  to  consider  it.  It  was  one  of 
the  few  impulses  of  his  life,  or  perhaps  only  the  quick- 
est thinking  he  had  ever  done.  Cairness  was  there 
among  the  rocks,  disabled  and  in  momentary  danger  of 
his  life.  If  it  had  been  a  soldier,  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances, Landor  might  have  gone  on  and  have  sent 
another  soldier  to  help  him.  It  was  only  a  chief  of 
scouts,  but  it  was  a  man  of  his  own  kind,  for  all  that — 
and  it  was  his  enemy.  Instinct  dismounted  him  be- 
fore reason  had  time  to  warn  him  that  the  affair  of  an 
officer  is  not  to  succor  his  inferiors  in  the  thick  of  the 
fighting  when  there  are  others  who  can  be  better  spared 
to  do  it.  He  threw  his  reins  over  his  horse's  head  and 
into  the  hands  of  the  orderly-trumpeter,  and  jumped 
down  beside  Cairness. 

When  the  sergeant  reported  it  to  the  major  after- 
ward, he  said  that  the  captain,  in  stooping  over  to 
raise  the  chief  of  scouts,  had  been  struck  full  in  the 
temple  by  a  bullet,  and  had  pitched  forward  with  his 
arms  stretched  out.  One  private  had  been  wounded. 
They  carried  the  two  men  back  to  the  little  cabin  of 
stones,  and  that  was  the  casualty  list.  But  the  dash 
had  failed. 

They  laid  Landor  upon  the  ground,  in  the  same  patch 
of  shade  he  had  glanced  at  in  coming  by  not  five  min- 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  281 

utes  before.  His  glazed  eyes  stared  back  at  the  sky. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  him.  But  Cairness 
was  alive.  They  washed  the  blood  from  his  face  with 
water  out  of  the  canteens,  and  bound  his  head  with  a 
wet  handkerchief.  And  presently  he  came  back  to  con- 
sciousness and  saw  Landor  stretched  there,  with  the 
bluing  hole  in  his  brow,  and  the  quiet  there  is  no  mis- 
taking on  his  sternly  weary  face.  And  he  turned  back 
his  head  and  lay  as  ashy  and  almost  as  still  as  the  dead 
man,  with  a  look  on  his  own  face  more  terrible  than 
that  of  any  death. 

After  a  time,  when  a  soldier  bent  over  him  and  held 
a  flask  to  his  teeth,  he  drank,  and  then  he  pointed  feebly, 
and  his  lips  framed  the  question  he  could  not  seem  to 
speak. 

The  soldier  understood.  "  Trying  to  save  you,  sir," 
he  said  a  little  resentfully. 

But  Cairness  had  known  it  without  that.  It  was  so 
entirely  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  his  fate,  that  every 
cup  which  ought  to  have  been  sweet  should  have  been 
embittered  like  this. 

He  rolled  his  cut  and  throbbing  head  over  again,  and 
watched  the  still  form.  And  he  was  conscious  of  no 
satisfaction  that  now  there  was  nothing  in  all  the  world 
to  keep  him  from  Felipa,  from  the  gaining  of  the  wish 
of  many  years,  but  only  of  a  dull  sort  of  pity  for  Landor 
and  for  himself,  and  of  a  real  and  deep  regret. 


XXIII 

IT  was  a  splendid  spring  morning.  There  had  been 
a  shower  overnight,  and  the  whole  mountain  world  was 
aglitter.  The  dancing,  rustling  leaves  of  the  cotton- 
woods  gleamed,  the  sparse  grass  of  the  parade  ground 
was  shining  like  tiny  bayonets,  the  flag  threw  out  its 
bright  stripes  to  the  breeze,  and  when  the  sun  rays 
struck  the  visor  of  some  forage  cap,  they  glinted  off  as 
though  it  had  been  a  mirror.  All  the  post  chickens 
were  cackling  and  singing  their  droning  monotonous 
song  of  contentment,  the  tiny  ones  cheeped  and  twit- 
tered, and  in  among  the  vines  of  the  porch  Felipa's 
mocking-bird  whistled  exultantly. 

The  sound  shrilled  sweetly  through  the  house,  through 
all  the  empty  rooms,  and  through  the  thick  silence  of 
that  one  which  was  not  empty,  but  where  a  flag  was 
spread  over  a  rougli  box  of  boards,  and  Ellton  sat  by  the 
window  with  a  little  black  prayer-book  in  his  hand.  He 
was  going  over  the  service  for  the  burial  of  the  dead, 
because  there  was  no  chaplain,  and  it  fell  to  him  to  read 
it.  Now  and  then  one  of  the  officers  came  in  alone  or 
with  his  wife  and  stood  about  aimlessly,  then  went  away 
again.  But  for  the  rest,  the  house  was  quite  forsaken. 

Felipa  was  not  there.  At  the  earliest,  she  could  not 
return  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  by  then  Landor's  body 

282 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNKEST  283 

would  be  laid  in  the  dreary  little  graveyard,  with  its 
wooden  headboards  and  crosses,  and  its  neglected  graves 
among  the  coyote  and  snake  holes.  The  life  of  the 
service  would  be  going  on  just  as  usual,  after  the  little 
passing  excitement  was  at  an  end.  For  it  was  an  excite- 
ment. No  one  in  the  garrison  would  have  had  it  end 
like  this,  but  since  what  will  be  will  be,  and  the  right 
theory  of  life  is  to  make  the  most  of  what  offers  and  to 
hasten  —  as  the  philosopher  has  said  —  to  laugh  at  all 
things  for  fear  we  may  have  cause  to  weep,  there  was  a 
certain  expectation,  decently  kept  down,  in  the  air. 

It  rose  to  a  subdued  pitch  as  there  came  the 
gradual  rattling  of  wheels  and  the  slow  tramp  of  many 
feet.  A  buckboard,  from  which  the  seats  had  been 
removed,  came  up  the  line,  and  behind  it  marched  the 
troops  and  companies,  Landor's  own  troop  in  advance. 
They  halted  in  front  of  his  quarters,  and  four  officers 
came  down  the  steps  with  the  long  box  between  them. 
The  mocking-bird's  trill  died  away  to  a  questioning 
twitter. 

The  box  was  laid  in  the  buckboard,  and  covered 
with  the  flag  once  more.  Then  the  mules  started, 
with  a  rattle  of  traces  and  of  the  wheels,  and  the  tramp 
of  feet  began  again.  The  drums  thrummed  regularly 
and  slowly,  the  heart  beats  of  the  service,  and  the 
fifes  took  up  the  dead  march  in  a  weird,  shrill  Banshee 
wail.  They  went  down  the  line,  the  commandant  with 
the  surgeon  and  the  officers  first,  and  after  them  the 
buckboard,  with  its  bright-draped  burden.  Then 
Landor's  horse,  covered  with  black  cloths,  the  empty 


284  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

saddle  upon  its  back.  It  nosed  at  the  pockets  of  the 
man  who  led  it.  It  had  been  taught  to  find  sugar  in 
pockets.  And  then  the  troops,  the  cavalry  with  the 
yellow  plumes  of  their  helmets  drooping,  and  the 
infantry  with  the  spikes  glinting,  marching  with  eyes 
cast  down  and  muskets  reversed.  A  gap,  then  the 
soldiers'  urchins  from  the  laundress  row,  in  for  any- 
thing that  might  be  doing. 

The  roll  of  the  drums  and  the  whistle  of  the  fifes 
died  away  in  the  distance.  There  was  a  long  silence, 
followed  by  three  volleys  of  musketry,  the  salute  over 
the  open  grave.  And  then  taps  was  pealed  in  notes  of 
brass  up  to  the  blue  sky,  a  long  farewell,  a  challenge 
aforetime  to  the  trumpet  of  the  Last  Day.  They 
turned  and  came  marching  back.  The  drums  and 
fifes  played  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  in  sarcastic  relief.  The 
men  walked  briskly  with  their  guns  at  carry  arms,  the 
black-draped  horse  curved  its  neck  and  pranced  until 
the  empt}7  stirrups  danced.  The  incident  was  over  — 
closed.  The  post  picked  up  its  life  and  went  on.  Two 
afternoons  later  the  ambulance  which  had  been  sent  for 
Felipa  came  into  the  post.  She  stepped  out  from  it 
in  front  of  the  Elltons'  quarters  so  majestic  and  awe- 
inspiring  in  her  black  garments  that  Mrs.  Ellton  was 
fairly  subdued.  She  felt  real  grief.  It  showed  in  her 
white  face  and  the  nervous  quiver  of  her  lips.  u  I  am 
going  out  to  the  graveyard,"  she  told  Mrs.  Ellton 
almost  at  once.  Mrs.  Ellton  prepared  to  accompany 
her,  but  she  insisted  that  she  was  going  alone,  and  did 
so,  to  the  universal  consternation. 


THE   HEKITAGE  OP   UNREST  285 

In  the  late  afternoon  the  lonely  dark  figure  crossed 
the  open  and  dropped  down  on  the  new  grave,  not  in 
an  agony  of  tears,  but  as  if  there  was  some  comfort  to 
be  gotten  out  of  contact  with  the  mere  soil.  The  old 
feeling  of  loneliness,  which  had  always  tinged  her  char- 
acter with  a  covert  defiance,  was  overwhelming  her. 
She  belonged  to  no  one  now.  She  had  no  people.  She 
was  an  outcast  from  two  races,  feared  of  each  because 
of  the  other's  blood.  The  most  forsaken  man  or  woman 
may  claim  at  least  the  kinship  of  his  kind,  but  she  had 
no  kind.  She  crouched  on  the  mound  and  looked  at 
the  sunset  as  she  had  looked  that  evening  years  before, 
but  her  eyes  were  not  fearless  now.  As  a  trapped  ani- 
mal of  the  plains  might  watch  a  prairie  fire  licking 
nearer  and  nearer,  making  its  slow  way  up  to  him  in 
spurts  of  flame  and  in  dull,  thick  clouds  of  smoke  that 
must  stifle  him  before  long,  so  she  watched  the  dreary 
future  rolling  in  about  her.  But  gradually  the  look 
changed  to  one  farther  away,  and  alight  with  hope. 
She  had  realized  that  there  was,  after  all,  some  one  to 
whom  she  belonged,  some  one  to  whom  she  could  go 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  be  loved  and  allowed 
to  love. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  her  for  some  hours  after  Mrs. 
Campbell  had  told  her  of  Landor's  death  that  she  was 
free  now  to  give  herself  to  Cairness.  She  had  gasped, 
indeed,  when  she  did  remember  it,  and  had  put  the 
thought  away,  angrily  and  self-reproachfully.  But  it 
returned  now,  and  she  felt  that  she  might  cling  to  it. 
She  had  been  grateful,  and  she  had  been  faithful,  too. 


286  THE   HEBITAGE  OF  UNREST 

She  remembered  only  that  Landor  had  been  kind  to 
her,  and  forgot  that  for  the  last  two  years  she  had 
borne  with  much  harsh  coldness,  and  with  a  sort  of 
contempt  which  she  felt  in  her  unanalyzing  mind  to 
have  been  entirely  unmerited.  Gradually  she  raised 
herself  until  she  sat  quite  erect  by  the  side  of  the 
mound,  the  old  exultation  of  her  half-wild  girlhood 
shining  in  her  face  as  she  planned  the  future,  which 
only  a  few  minutes  before  had  seemed  so  hopeless. 

And  when  the  retreat  gun  boomed  in  the  distance, 
she  stood  up,  shaking  the  earth  and  grasses  from  her 
gown,  and  started  to  carry  out  her  plans.  A  storm 
was  blowing  up  again.  Clouds  were  massing  in  the 
sky,  and  night  was  rising  rather  than  the  sun  setting. 
There  was  a  cold,  greenish  light  above  the  snow  peak, 
and  darkness  crept  up  from  the  earth  and  down  from 
the  gray  clouds  that  banked  upon  the  northern  horizon 
and  spread  fast  across  the  heavens.  A  bleak,  whining 
wind  rustled  the  leaves  of  the  big  trees  down  by  the 
creek,  and  caught  up  the  dust  of  the  roadway  in  little 
eddies  and  whirls,  as  Felipa,  with  a  new  purpose  in  her 
step,  swung  along  it  back  to  the  post. 

She  would  not  be  induced  to  go  near  her  own  house 
that  night.  When  Ellton  suggested  it,  she  turned 
white  and  horrified.  It  had  not  occurred  to  him  before 
that  a  woman  so  fearless  of  everything  in  the  known 
world  might  be  in  abject  terror  of  the  unknown. 

"It's  her  nature,"  he  told  his  wife.  "Underneath 
she  is  an  Apache,  and  they  burn  the  wigwams  and  all 
the  traps  of  their  dead  ;  sometimes  even  the  whole  vil- 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  UNREST  287 

lage  he  lived  in."  Mrs.  Ellton  said  that  poor  Captain 
Landor  had  had  a  good  deal  to  endure. 

The  two  children  whom  Felipa  had  taken  in  charge 
two  years  before  had  been  left  in  the  care  of  the  ser- 
geant of  Landor's  troop  and  his  wife,  and  they  mani- 
fested no  particular  pleasure  at  seeing  her  again.  They 
were  half  afraid  of  her,  so  severely  black  and  tall  and 
quiet.  They  had  been  playing  with  the  soldier's  chil- 
dren, and  were  anxious  to  be  away  again.  The  young 
of  the  human  race  are  short  of  memory,  and  their 
gratefulness  does  not  endure  for  long.  There  is  no 
caress  so  sweet,  so  hard  to  win,  as  the  touch  of  a  child's 
soft  hand,  and  none  that  has  behind  it  less  of  nearly 
all  that  we  prize  in  affection.  It  is  sincere  while  it 
lasts,  and  no  longer,  and  it  must  be  bought  either  with 
a  price  or  with  a  wealth  of  love.  You  may  lavish  the 
best  that  is  within  you  to  obtain  a  kiss  from  baby  lips, 
and  if  they  rest  warm  and  moist  upon  your  cheek  for 
a  moment,  the  next  they  are  more  eager  for  a  sweet- 
meat than  for  all  your  adoration. 

"  Yes,"  whispered  the  little  girl,  squirming  in  Felipa's 
arms,  "I  am  dlad  you's  come.  Let  me  doe." 

"  Kiss  me,"  said  Felipa. 

The  child  brushed  at  her  cheek  and  struggled  away. 
"  Come,  Billy,"  she  called  to  the  brother  who  had  saved 
her  life  ;  and  that  small,  freckle-faced  hero,  whose 
nose  was  badly  skinned  from  a  fall,  flung  his  arms 
around  his  benefactress's  neck  perfunctorily  and  es- 
caped, rejoicing. 

The  Elltons'  pretty  child  was  like  its  mother,  gen- 


288  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

tier  and  more  caressing.  It  lay  placidly  in  her  arms 
and  patted  her  lips  when  she  tried  to  talk,  with  the 
tips  of  its  rosy  fingers.  She  caught  them  between 
her  teeth  and  mumbled  them,  and  the  child  chuckled 
gleefully.  But  by  and  by  it  was  taken  away  to  bed, 
and  then  Felipa  was  alone  with  its  father  and  mother. 
Through  the  tiresome  evening  she  felt  oppressed  and 
angrily  nervous.  The  Elltons  had  always  affected 
her  so. 

She  asked  for  the  full  particulars  of  her  husband's 
death,  and  when  Ellton  had  told  her,  sat  looking 
straight  before  her  at  the  wall.  "It  was  very  like 
Jack,"  she  said  finally,  in  a  low  voice,  "  his  whole  life 
was  like  that."  And  then  she  turned  squarely  to  the 
lieutenant.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Cairness  ?  Where  did 
they  take  him  ?  "  She  was  surprised  at  herself  that  she 
had  not  thought  of  that  before. 

He  told  her  that  he  had  gone  on  to  Arizona,  to  Tomb- 
stone, he  believed.  "  By  the  way,"  he  added,  "  did  you 
hear  that  Brewster  has  married  a  rich  Jewish  widow 
down  in  Tucson?" 

"  Yes,  I  heard  it,"  she  said  indifferently.  "  Was  Mr. 
Cairness  really  much  hurt  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  said  Ellton;  "it  was  a  sharp  cut  on  the 
forehead — went  through  the  bone,  and  he  was  uncon- 
scious, off  and  on,  for  two  or  three  days.  He  seemed 
to  take  it  hard.  He  went  off  yesterday,  and  he  wasn't 
fit  to  travel  either,  but  he  would  do  it  for  some  reason. 
I  think  he  was  worse  cut  up  about  Landor  than  any- 
thing, though  he  wasn't  able  to  go  to  the  funeral.  I  like 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  289 

Cairness.  He's  an  all-round  decent  fellow ;  but  after 
all,  his  life  was  bought  too  dear." 

Felipa  did  not  answer. 

He  did  not  try  to  discuss  her  plans  for  the  future 
with  her  that  night ;  but  two  days  afterward,  when  she 
had  disposed  of  all  her  household  goods  and  had  packed 
the  few  things  that  remained,  they  sat  upon  two  boxes 
in  the  bare  hallway,  resting  ;  and  he  broached  it. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  the  quartermaster  to  store  my 
things  for  the  present,  and  of  course  the  first  sergeant's 
wife  will  look  out  for  the  children,"  she  said. 

But  that  was  not  exactly  what  he  wanted  to  know, 
and  he  insisted.  "  But  what  is  going  to  become  of  you  ? 
Are  you  going  back  to  the  Campbells  ?  "  He  had  asked 
her  to  stay  with  his  wife  and  himself  as  long  as  she 
would,  but  she  had  refused. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  told  the  Campbells  I  would  not 
go  to  them." 

And  he  could  get  nothing  definite  from  her  beyond 
that.  It  annoyed  him,  of  course  ;  Felipa  had  a  gift  for 
repulsing  kindness  and  friendship.  It  was  because  she 
would  not  lie  and  could  not  evade.  Therefore,  she  pre- 
served a  silence  that  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  exasper- 
ating to  the  well-intentioned. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  she  was  to  leave  she 
went  to  the  graveyard  alone  again.  She  was  beginning 
to  realize  more  than  she  had  at  first  that  Landor  was 
quite  gone.  She  missed  him,  in  a  way.  He  had  been 
a  strong  influence  in  her  life,  and  there  was  a  lack  of 
the  pressure  now.  But  despite  the  form  of  religion  to 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

which  she  clung,  she  had  no  hope  of  meeting  him  in  any 
future  life,  and  no  real  wish  to  do  so. 

She  stood  by  the  mound  for  a  little  while  thinking 
of  him,  of  how  well  he  had  lived  and  died,  true  to  his 
standard  of  duty,  absolutely  true,  but  lacking  after  all 
that  spirit  of  love  without  which  our  actions  profit  so 
little  and  die  with  our  death.  She  had  a  clearer  reali- 
zation of  it  than  ever  before.  It  came  to  her  that 
Charles  Cairness's  life,  wandering,  aimless,  disjointed 
as  it  was,  and  her  own,  though  it  fell  far  below  even  her 
own  not  impossibly  high  ideals,  were  to  more  purpose, 
had  in  them  more  of  the  vital  force  of  creation,  were 
less  wasted,  than  his  had  been.  To  have  known  no 
enthusiasms  —  which  are  but  love,  in  one  form  or  an- 
other—  is  to  have  failed  to  give  that  impulse  to  the 
course  of  events  which  every  man  born  into  the  world 
should  hold  himself  bound  to  give,  as  the  human  debt 
to  the  Eternal. 

Felipa  felt  something  of  this,  and  it  lessened  the  vague 
burden  of  self-reproach  she  had  been  carrying.  She 
was  almost  cheerful  when  she  got  back  to  the  post. 
Through  the  last  breakfast,  which  the  Elltons  took  for 
granted  must  be  a  sad  one,  and  conscientiously  did  their 
best  to  make  so,  she  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping 
down  to  their  depression. 

It  was  not  until  they  all,  from  the  commandant  down 
to  the  recruits  of  Landor's  troop,  came  to  say  good-by 
that  she  felt  the  straining  and  cutting  of  the  strong  tie 
of  the  service,  which  never  quite  breaks  though  it  be 
stretched  over  rough  and  long  years  and  almost  forgot- 


THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST  291 

ten.  The  post  blacksmith  to  whom  she  had  been  kind 
during  an  illness,  the  forlorn  sickly  little  laundress 
whose  baby  she  had  eased  in  dying,  the  baker  to  whose 
motherless  child  she  had  been  good  —  all  came  crpwding 
up  the  steps.  They  were  sincerely  sorry  to  have  her 
go.  She  had  been  generous  and  possessed  of  that 
charity  which  is  more  than  faith  or  hope.  It  was  the 
good-bys  of  Landor's  men  that  were  the  hardest  for 
her.  He  had  been  proud  of  his  troop,  and  it  had 
been  devoted  to  him.  She  broke  down  utterly  and 
cried  when  it  came  to  them,  and  tears  were  as  hard 
for  her  as  for  a  man.  But  with  the  officers  and  their 
women,  it  rose  up  between  her  and  them  that  they 
would  so  shortly  despise  and  condemn  her,  that  they 
would  not  touch  her  hands  could  they  but  know  her 
thoughts. 

Ellton  was  going  with  her  to  the  railroad.  They 
were  to  travel  with  a  mounted  escort,  as  she  had  come, 
on  account  of  the  uncertain  state  of  the  country.  And 
they  must  cross,  as  she  had  done  in  coming  also,  the 
road  over  the  malpais,  where  Landor  had  fallen.  As 
the  hoofs  of  the  mules  and  the  tires  of  the  wheels  be- 
gan to  slip  and  screech  on  the  smooth-worn  lava,  and 
the  ambulance  rattled  and  creaked  up  the  incline,  Ell- 
ton  leaned  forward  and  pointed  silently  to  a  hollow  in 
the  gray  rock  a  few  yards  away.  It  was  where  Landor 
had  pitched  forward  over  the  body  of  the  mounted  chief 
of  scouts.  Felipa  nodded  gravely,  but  she  did  not 
speak,  nor  yet  weep.  Ellton,  already  thrown  back  upon 
himself  by  her  persistent  silence  with  regard  to  her  in- 


292  THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

tentions,  recoiled  even  more.  He  thought  her  hard 
beyond  all  his  previous  experience  of  women. 

"  I  will  write  to  you  where  you  are  to  send  my  mail," 
she  told  him,  when  the  train  was  about  to  pull  out.  He 
bowed  stiffly,  and  raising  his  hat  was  gone.  She  looked 
after  him  as  he  went  across  the  cinder  bed  to  the  ambu- 
lance which  was  to  take  him  back,  and  wondered  what 
would  have  been  the  look  upon  his  nice,  open  face,  if 
she  had  told  him  her  plans,  after  all.  But  she  was  the 
only  one  who  knew  them. 

And  Cairness  himself  was  startled  and  utterly  unpre- 
pared when  the  Reverend  Taylor  opened  the  door  of 
the  room  where  he  lay  and  let  her  pass  in.  The  little 
parson  uttered  no  word,  but  there  was  a  look  on  his 
face  which  said  that  now  the  questions  he  had  put  with 
no  result  were  answered.  It  was  for  this  that  Cairness 
had  given  the  best  of  his  life. 

Cairness  lay  white  and  still,  looking  up  at  her.  He 
was  very  weak  and  dazed,  and  for  the  instant  he  could 
only  remember,  absurdly  enough,  the  Andromaque  he 
had  seen  a  French  actress  play  once  in  his  very  early 
youth  when  he  had  been  taken  with  all  the  children  of 
the  Lycee,  where  he  was  then  at  school,  to  the  theatre 
on  a  Thursday  afternoon.  The  Andromaque  had  been 
tall  and  dark  and  superb,  and  all  in  black,  like  that 
woman  in  the  doorway  there. 

And  then  his  thoughts  shot  back  to  the  present  with 
quick  pain.  She  should  not  have  come  here,  not  so 
soon.  He  had  taken  a  long,  hard  trip  that  had  nearly 
ended  in  his  death,  to  avoid  this  very  thing,  this  meet- 


THE  HEKITAGE  OF  TJNKEST  293 

ing,  which,  just  because  it  made  him  so  terribly  happy, 
seemed  a  treachery,  a  sacrilege.  Had  she  less  delicacy 
of  feeling  than  himself  ?  Or  had  she  more  love  ?  It 
was  that,  he  saw  it  in  her  beautiful  eyes  which  were 
growing  wide  and  frightened  at  his  silence.  He  took 
his  hand  from  under  the  sheets  and  stretched  it  out  to 
her.  She  went  to  him  and  dropped  on  her  knees  be- 
side the  bed,  and  threw  her  arms  about  him.  He  moved 
his  weak  head  closer  to  her  shoulder,  and  pressing  her 
fingers  to  his  face  gave  a  choking  sob.  He  was  happy, 
so  very  happy.  And  nothing  mattered  but  just  this. 


XXIV 

"  CAIENESS  !  "  called  Crook,  and  Cairness,  turning 
aside,  came  over  to  where  the  general  sat  upon  a  big 
stone  eating  a  sandwich  two  inches  thick. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  officer. 

"  Well,"  answered  Cairness,  "  I  have  been  talking  to 
them,  chiefly  to  Geronimo.  They  have  a  good  place 
for  their  rancheria  on  that  hilltop.  It  is  an  old  lava 
bed,  an  extinct  crater,  and  it  is  a  perfect  fortress.  There 
are  three  gulches  between  us  and  them,  and  a  thousand 
men  couldn't  take  the  place." 

"  I  came  here  to  parley,  not  to  fight,"  said  the  general, 
rather  sharply.  "  What  is  their  disposition  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  they  are  willing  to  surrender,  upon  terms 
to  suit  them.  But  they  are  very  much  afraid  of  treach- 
ery. They  are  on  the  lookout  for  deception  at  every 
turn.  In  fact,  they  are  not  in  altogether  the  most  ami- 
able frame  of  mind,  for  the  greater  part.  However, 
you  can  decide  that  for  yourself  when  they  come  over, 
which  will  be  directly." 

He  seated  himself  upon  a  low  branch  of  sycamore, 
which  grew  parallel  to  the  ground,  and  went  on  to  tell 
what  he  had  seen  on  the  hilltop  in  the  hostile  camp. 
"They  are  in  capital  condition.  A  lot  of  them  are 
playing  koon-kan.  There  were  some  children  and  one 
little  red-headed  Irishman  about  ten  years  old  with 

294 


THE   HEEITAGE   OF  UNREST  295 

them.  He  was  captured  in  New  Mexico,  and  seems 
quite  happy.  He  enjoys  the  name  of  Santiago  Mackin 
—  plain  James,  originally,  I  suppose." 

The  general  smiled.  He  treated  Cairness  as  nearly 
like  an  equal  as  possible  always,  and  got  his  advice  and 
comment  whenever  he  could. 

"  Then  they  all  have  '  medicine '  on,"  Cairness  con- 
tinued, "  redbird  and  woodpecker  feathers,  in  buckskin 
bags,  or  quail  heads,  or  prairie-dog  claws.  One  fellow 
was  making  an  ornament  out  of  an  adobe  dollar.  Every 
buck  and  boy  in  the  band  has  a  couple  of  cartridge  belts 
and  any  quantity  of  ammunition,  likewise  new  shirts 
and  zarapes.  They  have  fitted  themselves  out  one  way 
or  another  since  Crawford  got  at  them  in  January. 
I  don't  think  there  are  any  of  them  particularly  anxious 
to  come  in." 

Another  officer  came  up,  and  Cairness  dropped  from 
the  twisted  bow  and  walked  away. 

"  That  fellow  Cairness  may  be  a  good  scout  and  all 
that,  but  he  must  be  an  unmitigated  blackguard  too," 
said  the  officer,  stretching  himself  on  the  ground  beside 
Crook. 

The  general  turned  his  head  sharply,  and  his  eyes 
flashed,  but  he  only  asked  dryly,  "  Why  ?  " 

"  You  know  he's  the  man  Landor  lost  his  life  saving 
upon  the  malpais  in  New  Mexico  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Crook. 

"  And  inside  of  a  fortnight  he  and  Mrs.  Landor  went 
to  some  Roman  Catholic  priest  in  Tombstone  and  were 
married.  I  call  that  indecent  haste." 


296  THE   HERITAGE   OP  UNREST 

"  What !  "  ejaculated  the  general.  He  was  moved 
altogether  from  his  imperturbable  calm. 

"That's  the  straight  bill.  Ask  him.  He  isn't  fit  to 
be  spoken  to." 

"  Is  that  the  very  handsome  Mrs.  Landor  who  was  at 
Grant  a  year  or  so  ago  ?  "  The  general  seemed  to  have 
difficulty  in  grasping  and  believing  it. 

"That  same.     She  was  part  Mescalero,  anyway." 

"  Where  is  she  now?  " 

"On  his  ranch,  living  on  the  fat  of  a  lean  land,  I 
believe.  He's  rich,  you  know.  I  don't  know  much 
about  them.  I've  small  use  for  them.  And  I  used  to 
like  Cairness,  too.  Thought  he  was  way  above  his  job. 
Those  squaw-men  lose  all  sense  of  honor." 

"  Cairness  never  was  a  squaw-man,"  corrected  Crook. 

"  Well,  he  is  now,  then,"  insisted  the  officer ;  "  Mrs. 
Landor  is  a  squaw  at  bottom.  Poor  old  Jack !  "  he 
sat  up  and  fired  a  stone  at  the  stalk  of  a  Spanish  bayo- 
net, "  I  guess  he's  better  off  in  the  Happy  Hunting 
Grounds.  His  wasn't  a  bed  of  roses." 

The  general  sat  silent  for  a  while.  "  I  didn't  know 
that  when  I  sent  for  him  this  time,"  he  said  at  length, 
in  partial  explanation.  Then  he  turned  his  head  and 
looked  up  over  his  shoulders  at  the  hostiles'  conical 
hill.  A  band  of  Chiricahuas  was  coming  down  the  side 
toward  the  soldiers'  camp. 

It  was  the  first  scene  of  the  closing  act  of  the  tragic 
comedy  of  the  Geronimo  campaign.  That  wily  old 
devil,  weary  temporarily  of  the  bloodshed  he  had  con- 
tinued with  more  or  less  regularity  for  many  years,  had 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNKEST  297 

sent  word  to  the  officers  that  he  would  meet  them  with- 
out their  commands,  in  the  Canon  de  los  Embudos, 
across  the  border  line,  to  discuss  the  terms  of  surrender. 
The  officers  had  forthwith  come,  Crook  yet  hopeful 
that  something  might  be  accomplished  by  honesty  and 
plain  dealing ;  the  others,  for  the  most  part,  doubting. 

The  character  of  Geronimo,  as  already  manifested, 
was  not  one  to  inspire  much  confidence,  nor  was  his 
appearance  one  to  command  respect.  The  suppositi- 
tious dignity  of  the  savage  was  lacking  entirely.  The 
great  chief  wore  a  filthy  shirt  and  -a  disreputable  coat, 
a  loin-cloth,  and  a  dirty  kerchief  wound  around  his 
head.  His  legs  were  bare  from  the  hips,  save  for  a 
pair  of  low  moccasins.  His  whole  appearance  was 
grotesque  and  evil. 

The  general  refused  the  withered  hand  he  put  out, 
and  looked  at  him  unsmilingly.  The  feelings  of  the  old 
chief  were  hurt.  He  sat  down  upon  the  ground,  under 
the  shadows  of  the  cottonwoods  and  sycamores,  and  ex- 
plained his  conduct  with  tears  in  his  bleary  eyes.  The 
officers  and  packers,  citizens  and  interpreters,  sat  round 
upon  the  ground  also,  with  the  few  Indians  who  had 
ventured  into  the  White-man's  camp  in  the  background, 
on  the  rise  of  the  slope.  There  was  a  photographer  too, 
who  had  followed  the  command  from  Tombstone,  and 
who  stationed  himself  afar  off  and  took  snap-shots  during 
the  conference,  which,  like  most  conferences  of  its  sort, 
was  vague  enough. 

It  was  the  usual  tale  of  woe  that  Geronimo  had  to 
tell,  much  the  same  that  the  old  buck  had  recited  to 


298  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

Cairness  in  the  spring  of  the  last  year.  His  particular 
grievance  was  the  request  for  his  hanging,  which  he  had 
been  told  had  been  put  in  the  papers,  and  his  fear  of 
three  White-men  who  he  believed  were  to  arrest  him. 
"  I  don't  want  that  any  more.  When  a  man  tries  to  do 
right,  such  stories  ought  not  to  be  put  in  the  newspapers. 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  that  you  do  not  speak  to 
me  ?  It  would  be  better  if  you  would  look  with  a  pleas- 
ant face.  I  should  be  more  satisfied  if  you  would  talk 
to  me  once  in  a  while."  The  interpreter  translated 
stolidly.  "  Why  don't  you  look  at  me  and  smile  at  me  ? 
I  am  the  same  man.  I  have  the  same  feet,  legs,  and 
hands,  and  the  Sun  looks  down  on  me  a  complete  man." 
There  was  no  doubt  about  that,  at  any  rate,  and  per- 
haps it  was  not  an  unmixed  good  fortune. 

The  general's  long  silence  was  making  the  complete 
man  nervous.  Beads  of  sweat  stood  out  on  his  forehead, 
and  he  twisted  his  hands  together.  "The  Sun,  the 
Darkness,  and  the  Winds  are  all  listening  to  what  we 
now  say.  To  prove  to  you  that  I  am  telling  the  truth, 
remember  that  I  sent  you  word  that  I  would  come  from 
a  place  far  away  to  speak  to  you  here,  and  you  see  me 
now.  If  I  were  thinking  bad,  I  would  never  have  come 
here.  If  it  had  been  my  fault,  would  I  have  come  so 
far  to  talk  with  you  ?  "  he  whined. 

The  general  was  neither  convinced  nor  won  over. 
He  had  Geronimo  told  that  it  was  a  very  pretty  story, 
but  that  there  was  no  reason  why  forty  men  should 
have  left  the  reservation  for  fear  of  three.  *'  And  if 
you  were  afraid  of  three,  what  had  that  to  do  with  the 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  299 

way  you  sneaked  all  over  the  country,  killing  innocent 
people  ?  You  promised  me  in  the  Sierra  Madre  that 
that  peace  should  last.  But  you  lied.  When  a  man  has 
lied  to  me  once,  I  want  better  proof  than  his  word  to 
believe  him  again." 

The  tears  trickled  down  the  withered  cheeks,  and 
Crook  gave  a  shrug  of  exasperation  and  disgust.  "  Your 
story  of  being  afraid  of  arrest  is  all  bosh.  There  were 
no  orders  to  arrest  you.  You  began  the  trouble  by  try- 
ing to  kill  Chato."  Geronimo  shook  his  head,  as  one 
much  wronged  and  misunderstood.  "  Yes  you  did,  too. 
Everything  that  you  did  on  the  reservation  is  known. 
There  is  no  use  your  lying." 

Then  he  delivered  his  ultimatum,  slowly,  watching 
the  unhappy  savage  narrowly  from  under  the  visor  of 
his  pith  helmet.  "You  must  make  up  your  mind 
whether  you  will  stay  out  on  the  war-path  or  surrender 
—  without  conditions.  If  you  stay  out,  I'll  keep  after 
you  and  kill  the  last  one,  if  it  takes  fifty  years.  I  have 
never  lied  to  you,"  he  stood  up  and  waved  his  hand  ; 
"  I  have  said  all  I  have  to  say.  You  had  better  think 
it  over  to-night  and  let  me  know  in  the  morning." 

He  walked  away,  and  Geronimo  went  back  to  his 
rancheria  on  the  hilltop,  crestfallen.  He  had  failed 
of  his  effect,  and  had  not  by  any  means  made  his  own 
terms. 

The  troops  settled  down  to  wait,  and  Cairness,  having 
further  sounded  some  of  the  Chiricahua  squaws,  went 
again  in  search  of  Crook.  He  was  seated  under  an  ash 
tree  with  his  back  against  the  trunk  and  a  portfolio 


300  THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST 

upon  his  knee,  writing.  When  Cairness  stopped  in 
front  of  him,  he  glanced  up. 

There  was  an  expression  in  his  eyes  Cairness  did  not 
understand.  It  was  not  like  their  usual  twinkle  of  wel- 
come. "  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  went  on  with 
his  writing.  Cairness  dropped  down  on  the  ground, 
and,  for  want  of  anything  else  to  do,  began  to  whittle 
a  whistle  out  of  a  willow  branch. 

Crook  closed  up  the  portfolio  and  turned  to  him.  "  I 
didn't  know  you  were  married,  Mr.  Cairness,  when  I 
sent  for  you." 

Cairness  reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  the 
scar  on  his  forehead  grew  purple.  He  understood  that 
look  now.  And  it  hurt  him  more  than  any  of  the 
slights  and  rebuffs  he  had  received  since  he  had  married 
Felipa.  He  had,  like  most  of  those  who  served  under 
the  general,  a  sort  of  hero-worship  for  him,  and  set 
great  store  by  his  opinion.  It  was  only  because  of  that 
that  he  had  left  Felipa  alone  upon  the  ranch.  It  had 
been  their  first  separation  and  almost  absurdly  hard 
for  two  who  had  lived  their  roving  lives. 

It  was  more  for  her  than  for  himself  that  the  rebuke 
hurt  him.  For  it  was  a  rebuke,  though  as  yet  it  was 
unsaid.  And  he  thought  for  a  moment  that  he  would 
defend  her  to  the  general.  He  had  never  done  so  yet, 
not  even  to  the  little  parson  in  Tombstone  whose  obvi- 
ous disapproval  he  had  never  tried  to  combat,  though  it 
had  ended  the  friendship  of  years. 

But  Crook  did  not  look  like  a  man  who  wished  to 
receive  confidences.  He  was  asking  for  facts,  and 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  301 

seeking  them  out  with  a  cold,  sharp  eye.  "I  have 
been  married  nearly  a  year,"  said  Cairness,  shortly. 

"To  Captain  Landor's  widow,  I  am  told." 

"  To  Captain  Landor's  widow,  yes  ;  "  he  met  the 
unsympathetic  eyes  squarely.  "  I  came  to  tell  you, 
general,  what  I  have  gathered  from  the  squaws.  It 
may  serve  you." 

Crook  looked  away,  straight  in  front  of  him.  "  Go 
on,"  he  said.  It  was  not  the  conversation  of  equals 
now.  It  was  the  report  of  an  inferior  to  a  superior. 
However  familiar  the  general  might  wish  to  be  upon 
occasions,  he  held  always  in  reserve  the  right  to  defer- 
ence and  obedience  when  he  should  desire  them. 

It  was  short  and  to  the  point  upon  Cairness's  part, 
and  having  finished  he  stood  up. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  the  general. 

"That  is  all." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  ;  and  Cairness  walked  away. 

The  next  two  days  he  kept  to  himself  and  talked 
only  to  his  Apache  scouts,  in  a  defiant  return  to  his 
admiration  for  the  savage  character.  A  Chiricahua 
asked  no  questions  and  made  no  conventional  re- 
proaches at  any  rate.  He  was  not  penitent,  he  was 
not  even  ashamed,  and  he  would  not  play  at  being 
either.  But  he  was  hurt,  this  last  time  most  of  all, 
and  it  made  him  ugly.  He  had  always  felt  as  if  he 
were  of  the  army,  although  not  in  it,  not  by  reason  of 
his  one  enlistment,  but  by  reason  of  the  footing  upon 
which  the  officers  had  always  received  him  up  to  the 
present  time.  But  now  he  was  an  outcast.  He  faced 


302  THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

the  fact,  and  it  was  a  very  unpleasant  one.  It  was 
almost  as  though  he  had  been  court-martialled  and 
cashiered.  He  had  thoughts  of  throwing  up  the  whole 
thing  and  going  back  to  Felipa,  but  he  hated  to  seem 
to  run  away.  It  would  be  better  to  stop  there  and 
face  it  out,  and  accept  the  position  that  was  allowed 
him,  the  same,  after  all,  as  that  of  the  majority  of 
chiefs  of  scouts. 

And  things  were  coming  to  an  end,  anyway.  He 
could  see  it  in  the  looks  of  the  Apaches,  and  hear  it  in 
their  whispers.  They  consented  to  come  in,  and  even 
to  put  themselves  at  the  discretion  of  the  government, 
but  there  was  a  lack  of  the  true  ring  in  their  promises. 
So  when,  on  the  third  morning,  before  it  was  yet  day- 
light, two  chiefs  came  hurrying  into  camp  and  awoke 
the  general  with  bad  news,  he  was  not  greatly  sur- 
prised. He  had  warned  Crook  of  the  possibility,  for 
that  matter. 

It  was  the  eternal  old  story  of  the  White-man's 
whiskey.  A  rancher  living  some  four  hundred  yards 
from  the  boundary  line  upon  the  Mexican  side  had 
sold  it  to  the  Indians.  Many  of  them  were  dead  or 
fighting  drunk.  The  two  sober  Indians  asked  for  a 
squad  of  soldiers  to  help  them  guard  the  ranchman, 
and  stop  him  from  selling  any  more  mescal.  They 
were  right-minded  themselves  and  really  desired  peace, 
and  their  despair  was  very  great. 

Geronimo  and  four  other  warriors  were  riding  aim- 
lessly about  on  two  mules,  drunk  as  they  well  could 
be,  too  drunk  to  do  much  that  day.  But  when  night 


THE   HERITAGE   OF   UNREST  303 

came,  and  with  it  a  drizzling  rain,  the  fears  the  ranch- 
man and  his  mescal  had  put  in  their  brains  assumed 
real  shapes,  and  they  betook  themselves  to  the  moun- 
tains again,  and  to  the  war-path. 

It  was  failure,  flat  failure.  The  officers  knew  it, 
and  the  general  knew  it.  It  was  the  indefinite  pro- 
longation of  the  troubles.  It  was  the  ignominious 
refutation  of  all  his  boasts  —  boasts  based  not  so  much 
upon  trust  in  himself,  as  on  belief  in  the  nature  of  the 
Apache,  whose  stanch  champion  he  had  always  been. 

The  fault  of  this  last,  crowning  breach  of  faith  was 
not  all  with  the  Red-men  by  any  means.  But  the 
difficulty  would  be  to  have  that  believed.  The  world 
at  large,  —  or  such  part  of  it  as  was  deigning  to  take 
heed  of  this  struggle  against  heavy  odds,  this  contest 
between  the  prehistoric  and  the  makers  of  history, — 
the  world  at  large  would  not  go  into  the  details,  if 
indeed  it  were  ever  to  hear  them.  It  would  know 
just  this,  that  a  band  of  Indians,  terrible  in  the  very 
smallness  of  their  numbers,  were  meeting  the  oncoming 
line  of  civilization  from  the  East  with  that  of  the 
savagery  of  the  West,  as  a  prairie  fire  is  met  and 
checked  in  its  advance  by  another  fire  kindled  and  set 
on  to  stop  it.  It  would  know  that  the  blood  of  the 
masters  of  the  land  was  being  spilled  upon  the  thirsty, 
unreclaimed  ground  by  those  who  were,  in  right  and 
justice,  for  the  welfare  of  humanity,  masters  no  more. 
It  would  know  that  the  voice  which  should  have  been 
that  of  authority  and  command  was  often  turned  to 
helpless  complaint  or  shrieks  for  mercy.  And  it 


304  THE   HERITAGE  OP   UNREST 

would  not  stop  for  the  causes  of  these  things;  it  could 
not  be  expected  to.  It  would  know  that  a  man  had 
come  who  had  promised  peace,  confidently  promised 
it  in  the  event  of  certain  other  promises  being  fulfilled, 
and  that  he  had  failed  of  his  purpose.  The  world 
would  say  that  Crook  had  held  in  his  grasp  the 
Apaches  and  the  future  peace  of  an  empire  as  large  as 
that  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  France  and  Germany 
in  one,  and  that  he  had  let  it  slip  through  nerveless 
fingers.  It  was  signal  failure. 

Such  Apaches  as  had  not  gone  back  on  the  war-path 
returned  to  the  States  with  the  troops  ;  but  there  were 
five  months  more  of  the  outrages  of  Geronimo  and  his 
kind.  Then  in  the  summer  of  the  year  another  man, 
more  fortunate  and  better  fitted  to  deal  with  it  all, 
perhaps,  —  with  the  tangle  of  lies  and  deceptions, 
cross  purposes  and  trickery,  —  succeeded  where  Crook 
had  failed  and  had  been  relieved  of  a  task  that  was 
beyond  him.  Geronimo  was  captured,  and  was  hurried 
off  to  a  Florida  prison  with  his  band,  as  far  as  they 
well  could  be  from  the  reservation  they  had  refused  to 
accept.  And  with  them  were  sent  other  Indians,  who 
had  been  the  friends  and  helpers  of  the  government 
for  years,  and  who  had  run  great  risks  to  help  or  to 
obtain  peace.  But  the  memory  and  gratitude  of  gov- 
ernments is  become  a  proverb.  The  southwest  settled 
down  to  enjoy  its  safety.  The  troops  rested  upon  the 
laurels  they  had  won,  the  superseded  general  went  on 
with  his  work  in  another  field  far  away  to  the  north. 
The  new  general,  the  saviour  of  the  land,  was  heaped 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  305 

with  honor  and  praise,  and  the  path  of  civilization  was 
laid  clear. 

But  before  then  Cairness  returned  to  his  ranch  and 
set  his  back  upon  adventure  for  good  and  all. 
"  Crook  will  be  gone  soon,"  he  said  to  Felipa  ;  "  it  is 
the  beginning  of  his  end.  And  even  if  he  were  to 
keep  on,  he  might  not  need  me  any  more." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  quick  suspicion  of  the 
dreariness  she  caught  in  his  tone. 

He  changed  it  to  a  laugh.  "A  scout  married  is  a 
scout  marred.  I  am  a  rancher  now.  It  behooves  me 
to  accept  myself  as  such.  I  have  outlived  my  useful- 
ness in  the  other  field." 


XXV 

FELIPA  sat  up  in  bed,  and  leaning  over  to  the  window 
beside  it  drew  up  the  shade  and  looked  out.  The  cold, 
gray  world  of  breaking  day  was  battling  furiously  with 
a  storm  of  rain.  The  huddling  flowers  in  the  garden 
bent  to  the  ground  before  the  rush  of  wind  from  the 
mountains  across  the  prairie.  The  windmill  sent  out 
raucous  cries  as  it  flew  madly  around,  the  great  dense 
clouds,  black  with  rain,  dawn-edged,  charged  through 
the  sky,  and  the  shining-leaved  cottonwoods  bent  their 
branches  almost  to  the  earth.  The  figures  of  Cairness 
and  a  couple  of  cow-boys,  wrapped  in  rubber  coats, 
passed,  fighting  their  way  through  the  blur, —  vague, 
dark  shadows  in  the  vague,  dark  mist. 

The  storm  passed,  with  all  the  suddenness  it  had  come 
on,  and  Felipa  rose,  and  dressing  herself  quickly  went 
out  upon  the  porch.  Three  drenched  kittens  were 
mewing  there  piteously.  She  gathered  them  up  in  her 
hands  and  warmed  them  against  her  breast  as  she  stood 
watching  the  earth  and  sky  sob  themselves  to  rest. 
All  the  petunias  in  the  bed  by  the  steps  were  full  of 
rain,  the  crowfoot  and  madeira  vines  of  the  porch  were 
stirring  with  the  dripping  water.  Many  great  trees 
had  had  their  branches  snapped  off  and  tossed  several 

306 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  307 

yards  away,  and  part  of  the  windmill  had  been  blown 
to  the  top  of  the  stable,  some  distance  off.  She  won- 
dered if  Cairness  had  been  able  to  get  the  cut  alfalfa 
covered.  Then  she  took  the  kittens  with  her  to  the 
house  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  Chinese 
cook  already  had  a  fire  in  the  stove.  She  ordered  cof- 
fee and  toast  to  be  made  at  once,  and  leaving  the  kit- 
tens in  the  woodbox  near  the  fire,  went  back  to  the 
sitting  room. 

It  was  a  luxurious  place.  As  much  for  his  own 
artistic  satisfaction  as  for  her,  Cairness  had  planned  the 
interior  of  the  house  to  be  a  background  in  keeping 
with  Felipa,  a  fit  setting  for  her,  and  she  led  the  life  of 
an  Orient  queen  behind  the  walls  of  sun-baked  clay. 
There  was  a  wide  couch  almost  in  front  of  the  roaring 
fire.  She  sank  down  in  a  heap  of  cushions,  and  taking 
up  a  book  that  lay  open  where  her  husband  had  put  it 
down  the  night  before,  she  tried  to  read  by  the  flicker- 
ing of  the  flame  light  over  the  pages. 

She  was  drowsy,  however,  for  it  was  still  very  early, 
and  she  was  almost  dropping  off  to  sleep  when  the 
Chinaman  brought  the  coffee  and  set  it  down  upon  a 
table  near  her,  with  a  deference  of  manner  not  common 
to  the  Celestial  when  serving  the  Occidental  woman, 
who,  he  believes,  has  lost  the  right  to  it  directly  she 
shows  the  inclination  to  do  work  herself.  But  Felipa 
was  a  mistress  to  his  taste.  As  he  bowed  himself 
abjectly  from  her  presence,  Cairness  came  in.  He  had 
taken  off  his  rubber  coat  and  big  hat,  and  was  full  of 
the  vigor  of  life  which  makes  the  strong  and  healthy- 


308  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

minded  so  good  to  look  upon  at  the  beginning  of  a 
day. 

Felipa,  from  her  place  on  the  couch,  smiled  lazily, 
with  a  light  which  was  not  all  from  the  fire  in  her  half- 
closed  eyes.  She  put  out  her  hand,  and  he  took  it  in 
both  his  own  and  held  it  against  his  cold  cheek  as 
he  dropped  down  beside  her.  She  laid  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  and  for  a  while  neither  of  them 
spoke. 

Then  there  came  a  chuckling  scream  of  baby  laugh- 
ter and  a  soft  reproach,  spoken  in  Spanish,  from  across 
the  hall.  She  stood  up  and  poured  the  coffee,  but  before 
she  took  her  own  she  went  out  of  the  room  and  came 
back  in  a  moment,  carrying  her  small  son  high  upon 
her  shoulder. 

Cairness  watched  how  strong  and  erect  and  how  sure 
of  every  muscle  she  was,  and  how  well  the  blond  little 
head  looked  against  the  dull  blackness  of  the  mother's 
hair.  The  child  was  in  no  way  like  Felipa,  and  it  had 
never  taken  her  place  in  its  father's  love.  He  was  fond 
of  it  and  proud,  too  ;  but,  had  he  been  put  to  the  test, 
he  would  have  sacrificed  its  life  for  that  of  its  mother, 
with  a  sort  of  fanatical  joy. 

She  put  the  baby  between  them,  and  it  sat  looking 
into  the  fire  in  the  way  she  herself  so  often  did,  until 
her  husband  had  called  her  the  High  Priestess  of  the 
Flames.  Then  she  sank  down  among  the  cushions 
again  and  stirred  her  coffee  indolently,  drowsily,  steeped 
in  the  contentment  of  perfect  well-being.  Cairness 
followed  her  movements  with  sharp  pleasure. 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  309 

Later,  when  the  sun  was  well  up  in  the  jewel-blue 
sky,  and  the  world  was  all  ashine,  they  began  the  real 
routine  of  the  day.  And  it  would  have  been  much 
like  that  of  any  of  the  other  days  that  had  gone  before 
it  for  two  years,  had  not  Cairness  come  in  a  little 
before  the  noon  hour,  bringing  with  him  a  guest.  It 
was  an  Englishman,  whom  he  presented  to  Felipa  as  a 
friend  of  his  youth,  and  named  Forbes. 

He  did  not  see  that  there  was  just  the  faintest 
shadow  of  pausing  upon  Forbes's  part,  just  the  quickest 
passing  hesitation  and  narrowing  of  the  eyes  with 
Felipa.  She  came  forward  with  unquestioning  wel- 
come, accustomed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  any  traveller,  minded  to  stop  for  a  time,  should  go 
into  the  first  ranch  house  at  hand. 

He  told  her,  directly,  that  he  was  passing  through 
Arizona  to  hunt  and  to  look  to  certain  mining  interests 
he  held  there.  And  he  stayed,  talking  with  her  and 
her  husband  about  the  country  and  the  towns  and 
posts  he  had  visited,  until  long  after  luncheon.  Then 
Cairness,  having  to  ride  to  the  salt  lick  at  the  other 
end  of  the  ranch,  up  in  the  Huachuca  foot-hills,  sug- 
gested that  Forbes  go  with  him. 

It  was  plain,  even  to  Felipa,  how  thoroughly  he 
enjoyed  being  with  one  who  could  talk  of  the  past  and 
of  the  present,  from  his  own  point  of  view.  His  Cov- 
entry had  been  almost  complete  since  the  day  that  the 
entire  army,  impersonated  in  Crook,  had  turned  dis- 
approving eyes  upon  him  once,  and  had  then  looked 
away  from  him  for  good  and  all.  It  had  been  too  bitter 


310  THE  HERITAGE   OF   UNREST 

a  humiliation  for  him  ever  to  subject  himself  to  the 
chance  of  it  again. 

The  better  class  of  citizens  did  not  roam  over  the 
country  much,  and  no  officers  had  stopped  at  his  ranch 
in  almost  two  years,  though  they  had  often  passed  by. 
And  he  knew  well  enough  that  they  would  have  let 
their  canteens  go  unfilled,  and  their  horses  without 
fodder,  for  a  long  time,  rather  than  have  accepted 
water  from  his  wells  or  alfalfa  from  his  land.  He 
could  understand  their  feeling,  too,  —  that  was  the 
worst  of  it ;  but  though  his  love  and  his  loyalty  toward 
Felipa  never  for  one  moment  wavered,  he  was  learning 
surely  day  by  day  that  a  woman,  be  she  never  so  much 
beloved,  cannot  make  up  to  a  man  for  long  for  the 
companionship  of  his  own  kind  ;  and,  least  of  all,  — 
he  was  forced  to  admit  it  in  the  depths  of  his  con- 
sciousness now,  —  one  whose  interests  were  circum- 
scribed. 

They  had  lived  an  idyl  for  two  years  apast,  and  he 
begrudged  nothing ;  yet  now  that  the  splendor  was 
fading,  as  he  knew  that  it  was,  the  future  was  a  little 
dreary  before  them  both,  before  him  the  more,  for  he 
meant  that,  cost  him  what  it  might,  Felipa  should 
never  know  that  the  glamour  was  going  for  himself. 
It  would  be  the  easier  that  she  was  not  subtle  of  per- 
ception, not  quick  to  grasp  the  unexpressed.  As  for 
him,  he  had  wondered  from  the  first  what  price  the 
gods  would  put  upon  the  unflawed  jewel  of  their  hap- 
piness, and  had  said  in  himself  that  none  could  be  too 
high. 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  311 

Forbes  and  her  husband  having  gone  away,  Felipa 
lay  in  the  hammock  upon  the  porch  and  looked  up 
into  the  vines.  She  thought  hard,  and  remembered 
many  things  as  she  swayed  to  and  fro.  She  remem- 
bered that  one  return  to  Nature  long  ago  of  which 
Landor  had  not  known. 

There  had  been  an  afternoon  in  Washington  when, 
on  her  road  to  some  reception  of  a  half-official  kind, 
she  had  crossed  the  opening  of  an  alleyway  and  had 
come  upon  three  boys  who  were  torturing  a  small, 
blind  kitten  ;  and  almost  without  knowing  what  she 
did,  because  her  maternal  grandfather  had  done  to  the 
children  of  his  enemies  as  the  young  civilized  savages 
were  doing  to  the  kitten  there,  she  stopped  and  watched 
them,  not  enjoying  the  sight  perhaps,  but  not  recoiling 
from  it  either.  So  intent  had  she  been  that  she  had 
not  heard  footsteps  crossing  the  street  toward  her,  and 
had  not  known  that  some  one  stopped  beside  her  with 
an  exclamation  of  wrath  and  dismay.  She  had  turned 
suddenly  and  looked  up,  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  con- 
tracted curiously  as  they  had  been  when  she  had  watched 
the  tarantula-vinagrone  fight  years  before. 

The  man  beside  her  was  an  attache  of  the  British 
legation,  who  had  been  one  of  her  greatest  admirers  to 
that  time,  but  thereafter  he  sought  her  out  no  more. 
He  had  driven  the  boys  off,  and  taking  the  kitten, 
which  mewed  piteously  all  the  way,  had  gone  with  her 
to  her  destination  and  left  her. 

She  had  been  sufficiently  ashamed  of  herself  there- 
after, and  totally  unable  to  understand  her  own  evil 


312  THE   HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

impulse.  As  she  lay  swinging  in  the  hammock,  she 
remembered  this  and  many  other  things  connected  with 
that  abhorred  period  of  compulsory  civilization  and  of 
success.  The  hot,  close,  dead,  sweet  smell  of  the  petu- 
nias, wilting  in  the  August  sun,  and  the  surface-baked 
earth  came  up  to  her.  It  made  her  vaguely  heartsick 
and  depressed.  The  mood  was  unusual  with  her. 
She  wished  intensely  that  her  husband  would  come 
back. 

After  a  time  she  roused  herself  and  went  into  the 
house,  and  directly  she  came  back  with  the  baby  in 
her  arms.  The  younger  of  the  two  children  that  she 
had  taken  under  her  care  at  Stanton,  the  little  girl, 
followed  after  her. 

It  was  a  long  way  to  the  salt  lick,  and  the  chances 
were  that  the  two  men  would  be  gone  the  whole  after- 
noon. The  day  was  very  hot,  and  she  had  put  on  a 
long,  white  wrapper,  letting  her  heavy  hair  fall  down 
over  her  shoulders,  as  she  did  upon  every  excuse  now, 
and  always  when  her  husband  was  out  of  the  way. 
There  was  a  sunbonnet  hanging  across  the  porch  rail- 
ing. She  put  it  on  her  head  and  went  down  the  steps, 
carrying  the  child. 

Back  of  her,  a  score  or  more  of  miles  away,  were  the 
iron-gray  mountains ;  beyond  those,  others  of  blue  ;  and 
still  beyond,  others  of  yet  fainter  blue,  melting  into  the 
sky  and  the  massed  white  clouds  upon  the  horizon  edge. 
But  in  front  of  her  the  flat  stretched  away  and  away,  a 
waste  of  white-patched  soil  and  glaring  sand  flecked 
with  scrubs.  The  pungency  of  greasewood  and  sage 


THE   HEKITAQB  OF   UNREST  313 

was  thick  in  the  air,  which  seemed  to  reverberate  with 
heat.  A  crow  was  flying  above  in  the  blue  ;  its  shadow 
darted  over  the  ground,  now  here,  now  far  off. 

Half  a  mile  beyond,  within  the  same  barbed-wire 
enclosure  as  the  home  buildings  and  corrals,  was  a 
spring-house  surrounded  by  cottonwoods,  just  then 
the  only  patch  of  vivid  green  on  the  clay-colored 
waste.  There  were  benches  under  the  cottonwoods, 
and  the  ground  was  cool,  and  thither  Felipa  took  her 
way,  in  no  wise  oppressed  by  the  heat.  Her  step  was 
as  firm  and  as  quick  as  it  had  been  the  day  she  had 
come  so  noiselessly  along  the  parade,  across  the  path 
of  the  private  who  was  going  to  the  barracks.  It  was 
as  quiet,  too,  for  she  had  on  a  pair  of  old  red  satin 
slippers,  badly  run  down  at  the  heel. 

Cairness  started  for  the  salt  lick,  then  changed  his 
mind  and  his  destination,  and  merely  rode  with  Forbes 
around  the  parts  of  the  ranch  which  were  under  more 
or  less  cultivation,  and  to  one  of  the  water  troughs 
beneath  a  knot  of  live  oaks  in  the  direction  of  the 
foot-hills.  So  they  returned  to  the  home  place  earlier 
than  they  otherwise  would  have  done,  and  that,  too, 
by  way  of  the  spring-house. 

They  caught  sight  of  Felipa,  and  both  drew  rein 
simultaneously.  She  was  leaning  against  a  post  of 
the  wire  fence.  The  baby  was  carried  on  her  hip, 
tucked  under  her  arm,  the  sunbonnet  was  hanging  by  the 
strings  around  her  neck,  and  her  head,  with  its  straight 
loose  hair,  was  uncovered.  The  little  girl  stood  beside 
her,  clutching  the  white  wrapper  which  had  trailed  in 


314  THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST 

the  spring-house  acequia,  and  from  under  which  a 
muddy  red  slipper  showed.  That  she  was  imposing 
still,  said  much  for  the  quality  of  her  beauty.  She 
did  not  hear  the  tramp  of  the  two  horses,  sharp  as  her 
ears  were,  for  she  was  too  intent  upon  watching  a 
fight  between  two  steers. 

One  had  gone  mad  with  loco-weed,  and  they  gored 
each  other's  sides  until  the  blood  ran,  while  only  a  low, 
moaning  bellow  came  from  their  dried  throats.  A 
cloud  of  fine  dust,  that  threw  back  the  sun  in  glitters, 
hung  over  them,  and  a  flock  of  crows,  circling  above 
in  the  steel-blue  sky,  waited. 

"  Felipa  !  "  shouted  Cairness.  He  was  angry  — 
almost  as  angry  as  Forbes  had  been  when  he  had 
come  upon  Mrs.  Landor  watching  the  boys  and  the 
kitten  in  the  alleyway. 

She  heard,  and  again  her  eyes  met  Forbes's.  There 
was  a  flash  of  comprehension  in  them.  She  knew 
what  he  was  thinking  very  well.  But  she  left  the 
fence,  and,  pushing  the  sunbonnet  over  her  head, 
joined  them,  not  in  the  least  put  out,  and  they  dis- 
mounted and  walked  beside  her,  back  to  the  house. 

Cairness  was  taciturn.  It  was  some  moments  before 
he  could  control  his  annoyance,  by  the  main  strength 
of  his  sense  of  justice,  by  telling  himself  once  again 
that  he  had  no  right  to  blame  Felipa  for  the  manifesta- 
tions of  that  nature  he  had  known  her  to  possess  from 
the  first.  It  was  not  she  who  was  changing. 

Forbes  explained  their  early  return,  and  spoke  of 
the  ranch.  "It  might  be  a  garden,  this  territory,  if 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  315 

only  it  had  water  enough,"  he  said;  "it  has  a  future, 
possibly,  but  its  present  is  just  a  little  dismal,  I  think. 
Are  you  greatly  attached  to  the  life  here,  Mrs.  Cair- 
ness  ?  "  He  was  studying  her,  and  she  knew  it,  though 
his  glance  swept  the  outlook  comprehensively,  and  she 
was  watching  the  mail-carrier  riding  toward  them  along 
the  road.  It  was  the  brother  of  the  little  girl  who 
followed  along  behind  them,  and  who  ran  off  now  to 
meet  him,  calling  and  waving  her  hand. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  much  attached  to  it. 
I  was  born  to  it." 

"  Do  you  care  for  it  so  much  that  you  would  not 
be  happy  in  any  other  ?  " 

"That  would  depend,"  she  answered  with  her  enig- 
matical, slow  smile;  "  I  could  be  happy  almost  anywhere 
with  Mr.  Cairness." 

"  Of  course,"  he  laughed  tolerantly,  "  I  dare  say 
any  wilderness  were  paradise  with  him." 

Felipa  smiled  again.  "  I  might  be  happy,"  she  went 
on,  "  but  I  probably  should  not  live  very  long.  I 
have  Indian  blood  in  my  veins ;  and  we  die  easily  in 
a  too  much  civilization." 

That  evening  they  sat  talking  together  long  after 
the  late  dinner.  But  a  little  before  midnight  Felipa 
left  them  upon  the  porch,  smoking  and  still  going  over 
the  past.  They  had  so  much  to  say  of  matters  that 
she  in  no  way  understood.  The  world  they  spoke  of 
and  its  language  were  quite  foreign  to  her.  She  knew 
that  her  husband  was  where  she  could  never  follow 
him,  and  she  felt  the  first  utter  dreariness  of  jealousy  — 


816  THE  HERITAGE  OP  UNREST 

the  jealousy  of  the  intellectual,  so  much  more  unendur- 
able than  that  of  the  material. 

With  the  things  of  the  flesh  there  can  be  the  vindic- 
tive hope,  the  certainty  indeed,  that  they  will  lose  their 
charm  with  time,  that  the  gold  will  tarnish  and  the  gray 
come  above  the  green,  but  a  thought  is  dearer  for  every 
year  that  it  is  held,  and  its  beauty  does  not  fade  away. 
The  things  of  the  flesh  we  may  even  mar  ourselves,  if 
the  rage  overpowers  us,  but  those  of  the  intellect  are 
not  to  be  reached  or  destroyed  ;  and  Felipa  felt  it  as 
she  turned  from  them  and  went  into  the  house. 

There  was  a  big  moon,  already  on  the  wane,  floating 
very  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  plain  was  a  silvery 
sheen. 

"This  is  all  very  beautiful,"  said  Forbes,  after  a 
silence. 

Cairness  did  not  see  that  it  called  for  a  reply,  and 
he  made  none. 

"  But  it  is  doing  Mrs.  Cairness  an  injustice,  if  you 
don't  mind  my  saying  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Cairness,  rather  more 
than  a  trifle  coldly.  He  had  all  but  forgotten  the 
matter  of  that  afternoon.  Felipa  had  redeemed  herself 
through  the  evening,  so  that  he  had  reason  to  be  proud 
of  her. 

"  I  used  to  know  Mrs.  Cairness  in  Washington," 
Forbes  went  on,  undisturbed;  "  she  has  probably  told 
you  so." 

Cairness  was  surprised  almost  into  showing  his  sur- 
prise. Felipa  had  said  nothing  of  it  to  him.  And  he 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  317 

knew  well  enough  that  she  never  forgot  a  face.  He 
felt  that  he  was  in  a  false  position,  but  he  answered 
"  Yes  ?  "  non-committally. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Forbes,  "  she  was  very  much  ad- 
mired." He  looked  a  little  unhappy.  But  his  mind 
was  evidently  made  up,  and  he  went  on  doggedly  : 
"  Look  here,  Merely,  old  chap,  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
what  I  think,  and  you  may  do  as  you  jolly  well  please 
about  it  afterward  —  kick  me  off  the  ranch,  if  you  like. 
But  I  can  see  these  things  with  a  clearer  eye  than 
yours,  because  I  am  not  in  love,  and  you  are,  dreadfully 
so,  you  know,  not  to  say  infatuated.  I  came  near  to 
being  once  upon  a  time,  and  with  your  wife,  too.  I 
thought  her  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  had  ever 
known,  and  I  do  yet.  I  thought,  too,  that  she  was  a 
good  deal  unhappier  with  Landor  than  she  herself 
realized  ;  in  which  I  was  perfectly  right.  It's  plainer 
than  ever,  by  contrast.  Of  course  I  understand  that 
she  is  part  Indian,  though  I've  only  known  it  recently. 
And  it's  because  I've  seen  a  good  deal  of  your  Apaches 
of  late  that  I  appreciate  the  injustice  you  are  doing 
her  and  Cairness  Junior,  keeping  them  here.  She  is 
far  and  away  too  good  for  all  this,"  he  swept  the  scene 
comprehensively  with  his  pipe.  "  She'd  be  a  sensation, 
even  in  London.  Do  you  see  what  I  mean,  or  are  you 
too  vexed  to  see  anything  ?  " 

Cairness  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  pushed  the  to- 
bacco down  in  his  brier  and  sat  looking  into  the  bowl. 
"  No,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I'm  not  too  vexed.  The  fact  is, 
I  have  seen  what  you  mean  for  a  long  time.  But  what 


318  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

would  you  suggest  by  way  of  remedy,  if  I  may  ask  ? " 
They  were  both  talking  too  low  for  their  voices  to 
reach  Felipa  through  the  open  window  of  her  bed- 
room. 

"That  you  take  them  to  civilization  —  the  missus 
and  the  kid.  It's  the  only  salvation  for  all  three  of 
you  —  for  you  as  well  as  them." 

"  You  heard  what  Mrs.  Cairness  said  this  afternoon. 
She  was  very  ill  in  school  when  she  was  a  young  girl, 
and  still  more  so  in  Washington  afterward."  He 
shook  his  head.  "No,  Forbes,  you  may  think  you 
know  something  about  the  Apache,  but  you  don't 
know  him  as  I  do,  who  have  been  with  him  for  years. 
I've  seen  too  much  of  the  melting  away  of  half  and 
quarter  breeds.  They  die  without  the  shadow  of  an 
excuse,  in  civilization." 

But  Forbes  persisted,  carried  away  by  his  idea 
and  the  determination  to  make  events  fit  in  with  it. 
"  She  was  ill  in  Washington  because  she  wasn't  happy. 
She'd  be  happy  anywhere  with  you;  she  said  so  this 
afternoon,  you  remember." 

"She  also  said  that  it  would  kill  her." 

Forbes  went  on  without  noticing  the  interruption. 
"  You  are  a  great  influence  in  her  life,  but  you  aren't 
the  only  one.  Her  surroundings  act  powerfully  upon 
her.  When  I  knew  her  before,  she  was  like  any  other 
beautiful  woman  —  " 

"I  am  far  from  being  sure  that  that  is  entirely  to 
be  desired,  very  far,"  said  Cairness,  with  conviction. 
He  had  never  ceased  to  feel  a  certain  annoyance  at 


THE  HERITAGE   OP  UNREST  319 

the  memory  of  that  year  and  a  half  of  Felipa's  life  in 
which  he  had  had  no  part. 

Forbes  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You'll  pardon  me 
if  I  say  that  here  she  is  a  luxurious  semi-barbarian." 
It  was  on  his  tongue's  tip  to  add,  "  and  this  afternoon, 
by  the  spring-house,  she  was  nearly  an  Apache,"  but  he 
checked  it.  "  It's  very  picturesque  and  poetical  and  all 
that,  —  from  the  romantic  point  of  view  it's  perfect,  — 
but  it  isn't  feasible.  You  can't  live  on  honeycomb  for 
more  than  a  month  or  twain.  I  can't  imagine  a  greater 
misfortune  than  for  you  two  to  grow  contented  here, 
and  that's  what  you'll  do.  It  will  be  a  criminal  waste 
of  good  material." 

Cairness  knew  that  it  was  true,  too  true  to  refute. 

"I  am  speaking  about  Mrs.  Cairness,"  Forbes  went 
on  earnestly,  "  because  she  is  more  of  an  argument  for 
you  than  the  child  is,  which  is  un-English  too,  isn't 
it  ?  But  the  child  is  a  fine  boy,  nevertheless,  and  there 
will  be  other  children  probably.  I  don't  need  to  paint 
their  future  to  you,  if  you  let  them  grow  up  here. 
You  owe  it  to  them  and  to  your  wife  and  to  yourself 
—  to  society  for  that  matter  —  not  to  retrograde.  Oh  ! 
I  say,  I'm  out  and  out  lecturing  on  sociology.  You're 
good-tempered  to  put  up  with  it,  but  I  mean  well  — 
like  most  meddlers." 

"  I  have  the  ranch;  how  could  I  get  away  ?  "  Cairness 
opposed. 

But  the  argument  was  weak.  Forbes  paid  small 
heed  to  it.  "  You've  a  great  deal  besides.  Every  one 
in  the  country  knows  your  mines  have  made  you  a 


320  THE   HERITAGE   OF  UNREST 

rich  man.  And  you  are  better  than  that.  You  are 
a  talented  man,  though  you've  frittered  away  your 
abilities  too  long  to  amount  to  anything  much,  now. 
You  ought  to  get  as  far  off  from  this  kind  of  thing  as 
you  can." 

He  did  not  even  hint  that  he  knew  of  the  isolation 
of  their  lives,  but  Cairness  was  fully  aware  that  he 
must,  and  that  it  was  what  he  meant  now.  "You 
ought  to  go  to  another  country.  Not  back  to  Aus- 
tralia, either ;  it  is  too  much  this  sort,  but  somewhere 
where  the  very  air  is  civilizing,  where  it's  in  the  atmos- 
phere and  you  can't  get  away  from  it.  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  do."  He  stood  up  and  knocked  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  against  the  porch  rail.  "  You've  plenty 
of  friends  at  home.  Sell  the  ranch,  or  keep  it  to  come 
back  to  once  in  a  way  if  you  like.  I'm  going  back  in 
the  autumn,  in  October.  You  come  with  ine,  you  and 
Mrs.  Cairness  and  the  boy." 

Cairness  clasped  his  hands  about  one  knee  and  bent 
back,  looking  up  at  the  stars,  —  and  far  beyond  them 
into  the  infinity  of  that  Cause  of  which  they  and  he  and 
all  the  perplexing  problems  were  but  the  mere  effects. 
"You  mustn't  think  I  haven't  thought  it  over,  time 
and  again,"  he  said,  after  a  while.  "  It's  more  vital 
to  me  than  to  you ;  but  my  way  isn't  clear.  I  loved 
Mrs.  Cairness  for  more  than  ten  years  before  I  could 
marry  her.  I  should  lose  her  in  less  than  that,  I  am 
absolutely  certain,  if  I  did  as  you  suggest.  She  is  not 
so  strong  a  woman  as  you  might  suppose.  This  dry 
air,  this  climate,  are  necessary  to  her."  He  hesitated  a 


THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST  321 

little,  rather  loath  to  speak  of  his  sentiments,  and  yet 
glad  of  the  chance  to  put  his  arguments  in  words,  for 
his  own  greater  satisfaction.  "  You  call  it  picturesque 
and  poetical  and  all  that,"  he  said,  "  but  you  only  half 
mean  it  after  all.  It  is  picturesque.  It  has  been  abso- 
lutely satisfactory.  I'm  not  given  to  talking  about  this 
kind  of  thing,  you  know ;  but  most  men  who  have  been 
married  two  years  couldn't  say  truthfully  that  they 
have  nothing  to  regret ;  that  if  they  had  had  to  buy 
that  time  with  eternity  of  damnation  and  the  lake  of 
fire,  it  would  not  have  come  too  dear.  And  I  have  had 
no  price  to  pay  — "  he  stopped  short,  the  ring  of  con- 
viction cut  off,  as  the  sound  of  a  bell  is  when  a  hand 
is  laid  upon  it.  The  hand  was  that  of  a  fact,  of  the 
fact  that  had  confronted  him  in  the  Canon  de  los 
Embudos,  and  that  very  day  by  the  cottonwoods  of 
the  spring-house. 

"  Mrs.  Cairness  would  go  where  I  wished  gladly,"  he 
added,  more  evenly;  "but  if  it  were  to  a  life  very  dif- 
ferent from  this,  it  would  end  in  death  —  and  I  should 
be  the  cause  of  it.  There  it  is."  He  too  rose,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Think  it  over,  in  any  case,"  urged  Forbes ;  "  I  am 
going  in,  good  night." 

"  I  have  thought  it  over,"  said  Cairness;  "  good  night." 

Cairness  sat  for  a  long  time,  smoking  and  thinking. 
Then  Felipa's  voice  called  to  him  and  he  went  in  to  her. 
She  was  by  the  window  in  a  flood  of  moonlight,  herself 
all  in  flowing  white,  with  the  mantle  of  black  hair  upon 
her  shoulders. 


322  THE  HERITAGE  OP   UNREST 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  she  laid  her  head  against 
his  breast.  "  I  am  jealous  of  him,"  she  said,  without 
any  manner  of  preface. 

He  made  no  pretence  of  not  understanding.  "  You 
have  no  need  to  be,  dear,"  he  said  simply. 

"  He  gives  you  what  I  can't  give,"  she  said. 

"  You  give  me  what  no  one  else  could  give  —  the  best 
things  in  life." 

"  Better  than  the  —  other  things  ?  "  she  asked,  and  he 
answered,  unhesitating,  "  Yes." 

There  was  another  silence,  and  this  time  he  broke  it. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  had  known  Forbes, 
Felipa  ?  "  If  it  had  not  been  that  she  was  commonly 
and  often  unaccountably  reticent,  there  might  have  been 
some  suspicion  in  the  question.  But  there  was  only  a 
slight  annoyance.  Nor  was  there  hesitation  in  her 
reply. 

"  It  brought  back  too  much  that  was  unpleasant  for 
me.  I  did  not  want  to  talk  about  it.  He  saw  that  I 
did  not,  too,  and  I  can't  understand  why  he  should  have 
spoken  of  it.  I  should  have  told  you  after  he  had 
gone."  She  was  not  disconcerted  in  the  slightest,  only 
a  little  vindictive  toward  Forbes,  and  he  thought  it 
would  hardly  be  worth  his  while  to  point  out  the  curi- 
ous position  her  silence  put  him  in. 

He  gathered  his  courage  for  what  he  was  going  to 
say  next,  with  a  feeling  almost  of  guilt.  "  Forbes  says 
that  I  am  doing  you  an  injustice,  keeping  you  here  ; 
that  it  is  no  life  for  you." 

"  It  is  the  only  one  I  can  live,"  she  said  indifferently 


THE   HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  323 

enough,  stating  it  as  an  accepted,  incontrovertible  fact, 
"and  it's  the  one  you  like  best." 

He  had  told  her  that  many  times.  It  had  been  true  ; 
perhaps  it  was  true  still. 

"He  does  not  understand,"  she  continued;  "he  was 
always  a  society  man,  forever  at  receptions  and  dances 
and  teas.  He  doesn't  see  how  we  can  make  up  to  each 
other  for  all  the  world." 

She  moved  away  from  him  and  out  of  the  ray  of 
moonlight,  into  the  shadow  of  the  other  side  of  the 
window,  and  spoke  thoughtfully,  with  more  depth  to 
her  voice  than  usual.  "  So  few  people  have  been  as 
happy  as  we  have.  If  we  went  hunting  for  more  hap- 
piness somewhere  else,  we  should  be  throwing  away  the 
gifts  of  the  gods,  I  think." 

Cairness  looked  over  at  her  in  some  surprise,  but  her 
face  was  in  the  shadow.  He  wondered  that  she  had 
picked  up  the  phrase.  It  was  a  common  one  with  him, 
a  sort  of  catchword  he  had  the  habit  of  using.  But 
she  was  not  given  to  philosophy.  It  was  oddly  in  line 
with  his  own  previous  train  of  thought. 

He  laughed,  a  little  falsely,  and  turned  back  into  the 
room. 

"  The  gods  sell  their  gifts,"  he  said. 


XXVI 

FORBES  left  the  ranch  after  breakfast  the  next  day, 
and  Cairness  went  with  him  to  Tombstone.  He  had 
business  there,  connected  with  one  of  his  mines. 

Felipa  spent  the  day,  for  the  most  part,  in  riding 
about  the  ranch  and  in  anticipating  the  night.  Her 
husband  had  promised  to  be  back  soon  after  moonrise. 
When  it  had  begun  to  turn  dark,  she  dressed  herself  all 
in  white  and  went  out  to  swing  in  the  hammock  until 
it  should  be  time  for  her  lonely  dinner. 

Before  long  she  heard  a  horse  coming  at  a  gallop  up 
the  road,  to  the  front  of  the  house.  She  put  out  her 
hand  and  pushed  aside  the  vines,  but  could  see  little 
until  the  rider,  dismounting  and  dropping  his  reins  to 
hang  on  the  ground,  ran  up  the  steps.  It  was  the  mail 
carrier,  the  young  hero  of  the  Indian  massacre.  Felipa 
saw  in  a  moment  that  he  was  excited.  She  thought  of 
her  husband  at  once,  and  sat  up  in  the  hammock. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said  peremptorily. 

"It's  — "  the  boy  looked  around  nervously.  "If 
you'd  come  into  the  house  —  "  he  ventured. 

She  went  into  the  bedroom,  half  dragging  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  shut  the  door.  "  Now  !  "  she  said,  "  make 
haste." 

"  It's  Mr.  Cairness,  ma'am,"  he  whispered. 

324 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  325 

"  Is  he  hurt  ?  "  she  shook  him  sharply. 

The  boy  explained  that  it  was  not  that,  and  she  let 
him  go,  in  relief. 

"  But  he  is  goin'  to  be.  That's  what  I  come  so  quick 
to  tell  you."  He  stopped  again. 

"  Will  you  make  haste  ?  "  cried  Felipa,  out  of  patience. 

"  He's  coming  back  from  Tombstone  with  some  money, 
ain't  he  ?  " 

Felipa  nodded.     "  A  very  little,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  they  think  it's  a  lot." 

"Who?" 

"  The  fellers  that's  after  him.  They're  goin'  to  hold 
him  up  fifteen  miles  out,  down  there  by  where  the 
Huachuca  road  crosses.  He's  alone,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Felipa. 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  Old  Manuel  he  told  me.  You  don't  know  him. 
It's  an  old  Greaser,  friend  of  mine.  He  don't  want  no 
one  to  tell  he  told,  they'd  get  after  him.  But  it's  so, 
all  right.  There's  three  of  them." 

A  stable  man  passed  the  window.  Felipa  called  to 
him.  "Bring  me  my  horse,  quick,  and  mount 
four  men !  Don't  take  five  minutes  and  be  well  armed," 
she  ordered  in  a  low  voice.  Hers  was  the  twofold  de- 
cision of  character  and  of  training  that  may  not  be 
disregarded.  The  man  started  on  a  run. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  ?  "  the  boy  asked.  He  was 
round-eyed  with  dismay  and  astonishment. 

Felipa  did  not  answer.  She  broke  her  revolver  and 
looked  into  the  chambers,  Two  of  them  were  empty, 


326  THE  HERITAGE  OF   UNREST 

and  she  took  some  cartridges  from  a  desk  drawer  and 
slipped  them  in.  The  holster  was  attached  to  her  sad- 
dle, and  she  rarely  rode  without  it. 

"  You  ain't  goin'  to  try  to  stop  him  ?  "  the  boy  said 
stupidly.  "  He  was  goin'  to  leave  Tombstone  at  sun- 
down. He'll  be  to  the  place  before  you  ken  ketch  him, 
sure." 

"  We'll  see,"  she  answered  shortly;  "it  is  where  the 
Huachuca  road  crosses,  you  are  certain  ?  " 

He  nodded  forcibly.  "  Where  all  them  mesquites  is 
to  one  side,  and  the  arroyo  to  the  other.  They'll  be 
behind  the  mesquite.  But  you  ain't  goin'  to  head  him 
off,"  he  added,  "  there  ain't  even  a  short  cut.  The 
road's  the  shortest." 

The  stableman  came  on  a  run,  leading  her  horse,  and 
she  fairly  leaped  down  the  steps,  and  slipping  the  pistol 
into  the  holster  mounted  with  a  spring.  "  All  of  you 
follow  me,"  she  said;  "  they  are  going  to  hold  up  Mr. 
Cairness." 

On  the  instant  she  put  her  horse  to  a  run  and  tore 
off  through  the  gate  toward  the  open  country.  It  was 
dark,  but  by  the  stars  she  could  see  the  road  and  its 
low  bushes  and  big  stones  that  danced  by  as  her  horse, 
with  its  belly  to  the  ground,  sped  on.  She  strained  her 
ears  and  caught  the  sound  of  hoofs.  The  men  were 
following  her,  the  gleam  of  her  white  dress  guiding  them. 
She  knew  they  could  not  catch  her.  The  horse  she 
rode  was  a  thoroughbred,  the  fastest  on  the  ranch ;  not 
even  Cairness's  own  could  match  it.  It  stretched  out  its 
long  black  neck  and  went  evenly  ahead,  almost  without 


THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST  327 

motion,  rising  over  a  dog  hole  now  and  then,  coming 
down  again,  and  going  on,  unslacking.  She  felt  the  bit 
steadily  and  pressed  her  knee  against  the  hunting  horn 
for  purchase,  her  toe  barely  touching  the  stirrup,  that 
she  might  be  the  freer  in  a  fall. 

If  it  went  like  this,  she  thought,  she  might  get  to  the 
cross-road  first,  and  beyond.  The  four  men  would  not 
matter  much  then,  if  she  could  but  stop  her  husband. 
Why  had  he  started  back  alone  —  and  carrying  money 
too  ?  It  was  foolhardy.  But  then  there  was  so  little 
money,  she  knew,  that  he  had  probably  not  thought  of 
it  as  booty.  She  turned  her  uncovered  head  and  lis- 
tened. Her  hair  had  fallen  loose  and  was  streaming  out 
in  the  wind.  She  could  not  hear  the  others  now.  They 
must  be  well  behind. 

There  was  a  faint,  white  light  above  the  distant 
mountains  in  the  east.  The  moon  was  about  to  rise. 
In  a  few  moments  more  it  came  drifting  up,  and  the 
plain  was  all  alight.  Far  away  on  the  edge  was  a  vague, 
half-luminous  haze,  and  nearer  the  shadows  of  the 
bushes  fell  sharp  and  black.  A  mile  ahead,  perhaps, 
along  the  road,  she  could  make  out  the  dark  blot  of  the 
mesquite  clump.  Behind,  as  she  looked  again,  she 
could  just  see  four  figures  following. 

It  occurred  to  her  now  for  the  first  time  that  there 
was  danger  for  herself,  so  far  in  front,  so  entirely  alone. 
The  chances  for  passing  the  mesquites  were  not  very 
good.  If  the  men  were  already  there,  and  that  might 
be  counted  upon,  they  would  not  let  her  pass  if  they 
could  help  it.  It  occasioned  her  but  one  fear  —  that  she 


328  THE  HERITAGE  OF  UNREST 

could  not  stop  her  husband.  If  she  were  to  turn  from 
the  road  out  into  the  open,  she  would  lose  time,  even  if 
the  horse  did  not  fall,  and  time  was  not  to  be  lost. 

The  mesquites  were  very  near.  She  bent  down  over 
the  horse's  neck  and  spoke  to  him.  His  stride  length- 
ened out  yet  more.  She  drew  the  little  revolver,  and 
cocked  it,  still  bending  low.  If  they  were  to  fire  at 
her,  the  white  gown  would  make  a  good  mark ;  but  she 
would  show  as  little  of  it  as  might  be,  and  she  would 
not  waste  time  answering  shots,  if  it  could  be  helped. 

The  mesquites  were  directly  ahead.  A  horseman 
came  out  from  behind  them  and  placed  himself  across 
the  road.  There  was  a  sheen  of  moonlight  on  a  revol- 
ver barrel  and  a  shouted  "  Halt  there  !  " 

He  was  in  front  of  her,  not  a  hundred  feet  away ;  to 
the  left  were  the  mesquites,  to  the  right  the  ragged 
arroyo.  There  could  be  no  turning  aside.  She  threw 
up  her  own  revolver,  and  fired,  not  at  the  man,  but  at 
the  head  of  his  horse.  It  reared  and  fell,  and  a  moment 
after  her  own  rose  in  the  air,  touched  the  ground  beyond, 
and  went  on.  It  had  leapt  the  fallen  one  and  his  rider, 
and  was  leaving  them  behind. 

The  man  on  the  ground  twisted  his  body  around  on 
his  crushed  leg,  pinned  under  the  pony,  aimed  deliber- 
ately at  the  white  figure,  and  fired.  Felipa's  firm  hold 
upon  her  revolver  turned  to  a  clutch,  and  her  mouth  fell 
open  in  a  sharp  gasp.  But  very  deliberately  she  put 
the  revolver  into  its  holster,  and  then  she  laid  her  hand 
against  her  side.  At  once  the  palm  was  warm  with 
blood. 


THE  HERITAGE   OF  TJNREST  329 

She  drew  her  horse  down  to  a  gallop,  and  the  jar  of 
the  changed  gait  made  her  moan.  There  was  no  haste 
now.  Her  own  men  had  come  upon  the  desperadoes  and 
there  was  a  quick  volley.  And  ahead,  riding  fast 
toward  her  from  the  top  of  a  little  rise,  was  a  man  on 
a  white  horse  —  her  husband,  she  knew. 

She  gave  a  dry  little  sob  of  unutterable  glad  relief 
and  tried  to  raise  her  voice  and  call  to  him,  the  call 
they  used  for  one  another  when  they  rode  about  the 
ranch.  But  the  sound  was  only  a  weak,  low  wail. 

The  horse  came  down  to  a  walk.  She  had  lost  all 
control  of  the  reins  now,  and  clung  to  the  pommel  with 
both  hands,  swaying  from  side  to  side.  She  could  hear 
galloping  hoofs,  behind  and  in  front  —  or  was  it  only 
the  blood,  the  icy  cold  blood,  pounding  in  her  ears  ? 

The  horse  stopped,  and  she  reeled  blindly  in  her  seat 
into  a  pair  of  strong  arms  that  caught  her  and  drew 
her  down.  A  voice  was  saying  words  she  could  not 
hear,  but  she  knew  the  voice  so  well.  And  she  smiled 
and  dropped  her  head  down  upon  her  husband's  shoul- 
der. "  Just  —  just  in  time,"  she  whispered  very  low. 

"  In  time,  Felipa  ?  In  time  for  what,  dear  ?  "  but 
there  was  no  answer. 

He  turned  her  face  up  to  the  moonlight,  and  the  head 
fell  heavily  back  with  the  weight  of  hair.  The  half- 
closed  eyes  looked  unseeing  up  to  him,  and  the  quiet 
lips  smiled  still. 

"  Felipa  !  "  he  cried,  "  Felipa  !  " 

But  only  a  coyote  barked  from  a  knoll  near  by. 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 
RICHARD    YEA    AND    NAY 

By  MAURICE   HEWLETT 

Author  of  "  The  Forest  Lovers"  "  Little  Novels  of  Italy"  etc. 

Cloth.     12mo.    $1.50 


"  The  hero  of  Mr.  Hewlett's  latest  novel  is  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  whose 
character  is  peculiarly  suited  to  the  author's  style.  It  is  on  a  much  wider 
plan  than  '  The  Forest  Lovers,'  and  while  not  historical  in  the  sense  of 
attempting  to  follow  events  with  utmost  exactness,  it  will  be  found  to  give 
an  accurate  portrayal  of  the  life  of  the  day,  such  as  might  well  be  expected 
from  the  author's  previous  work.  There  is  a  varied  and  brilliant  back- 
ground, the  scene  shifting  from  France  to  England,  and  also  to  Palestine. 
In  a  picturesque  way,  and  a  way  that  compels  the  sympathies  of  his  readers, 
Mr.  Hewlett  reads  into  the  heart  of  King  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  showing 
how  he  was  torn  by  two  natures  and  how  the  title  '  Yea  and  Nay '  was 
peculiarly  significant  of  his  character."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  The  tale  by  itself  is  marvellously  told ;  full  of  luminous  poetry  ; 
intensely  human  in  its  passion  ;  its  style,  forceful  and  picturesque  ;  its 
background,  a  picture  of  beauty  and  mysterious  loveliness ;  the  whole, 
radiant  with  the  very  spirit  of  romanticism  as  lofty  in  tone  and  as  serious 
in  purpose  as  an  epic  poem.  It  is  a  book  that  stands  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  common  herd  of  novels  —  the  work  of  a  master  hand."  — 
Indianapolis  News. 

"  Mr.  Hewlett  has  done  one  of  the  most  notable  things  in  recent  litera- 
ture, a  thing  to  talk  about  with  abated  breath,  as  a  bit  of  master-craftsman- 
ship touched  by  the  splendid  dignity  of  real  creation."  —  The  Interior. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


WHO    GOES    THERE? 

€bc  Story  of  a  Spy  in  the  Civil 

By  B.   K.   BENSON 
Cloth.     12mo.    $1.50 

"  Beyond  question  the  best  story  of  the  Civil  War  that  has  appeared  of 
recent  years.  .  .  .  Veterans  who  took  part  in  the  campaigns  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  will  follow  every  page  with  absorbed  interest  ...  so  detailed 
and  seemingly  so  accurate  are  the  descriptions  of  battlefields  and  of  the 
positions  occupied  by  the  two  armies  at  different  times.  The  book  deserves 
to  be  put  among  the  works  of  history  dealing  with  the  Civil  War,  rather  than 
among  the  works  of  fiction,  so  great  is  the  preponderance  of  fact.  It  is  due 
to  the  author's  power  for  graphic  presentation  of  detail,  and  his  keen  regard 
for  the  fears  and  emotions  of  his  hero,  that  his  book  contains  much  of  the 
interest  of  a  novel  while  containing  more  historical  truth  than  most  histori- 
cal fictions." —  The  Springfield  Republican. 

"  Unquestionably  this  production  ranks  with  the  very  best  stories  that 
have  been  written  about  the  great  rebellion.  .  .  .  No  veteran  of  the  war 
could  read  of  the  gallant  work  done  so  systematically,  yet  modestly,  by  the 
almost  unknown  soldier,  Jones  Berwick,  and  add  anything  to  the  charm  of 
the  tale." — Evening  Post,  Chicago. 


THE    HOSTS    OF    THE    LORD 

By  FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 
Author  of  "On  the  Face  of  the  Waters,"  "Voices  in  the  Night,"  etc. 

Cloth.    12mo.    $1.50 

" '  The  Hosts  of  the  Lord '  is  a  very  dramatic  and  absorbing  story ;  once 
embarked  on  its  broad  current,  one  is  carried  swiftly  to  the  final  catas- 
trophe. .  .  .  The  novel  is  not  only  dramatic  in  the  sense  of  presenting  a 
well-defined  plot,  relating  the  actors  to  it  and  carrying  the  narrative  on  to 
a  tragic  climax;  it  is  also  full  of  atmospheric  effects;  the  languor,  the 
heat,  the  passion  of  nature  in  the  East  are  in  it."  —  HAMILTON  W.  MABIE. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


IN   THE  PALACE  OF  THE   KING 

H  Love  Story  of  Old  Madrid 

By  F.    MARION    CRAWFORD 

Author  of  "  Via  Cruets"  "  Saracinesca"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  FRED  ROE 
Cloth.      12mo.      $1.50 


"  Marion  Crawford's  latest  story,  '  In  the  Palace  of  the  King,'  is  quite 
up  to  the  level  of  his  best  works  for  cleverness,  grace  of  style,  and  sus- 
tained interest.  It  is,  besides,  to  some  extent  a  historical  story,  the  scene 
being  the  royal  palace  at  Madrid,  and  the  author  drawing  the  characters 
of  Philip  II.  and  Don  John  of  Austria  with  an  attempt,  in  a  broad,  im- 
pressionist way,  at  historic  faithfulness.  His  reproduction  of  the  life  at 
the  Spanish  court  is  as  brilliant  and  picturesque  as  any  of  his  Italian 
scenes,  and  in  minute  study  of  detail  is,  in  a  real  and  valuable  sense,  true 
history."  —  The  Advance. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  has  taken  a  love  story  of  vital  interest  and  has  related 
the  web  of  facts  simply,  swiftly,  and  with  moderation  ...  a  story  as 
brilliant  as  it  is  romantic  in  its  setting.  Here  his  genius  for  story  telling 
is  seen  at  its  best."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  For  sustained  intensity  and  graphic  description  Marion  Crawford's  new 
novel  is  inapproachable  in  the  field  of  recent  fiction."  —  Times  Union,  Albany. 

"Don  John  of  Austria's  secret  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  one  of 
King  Philip's  officers  is  the  culminating  point  of  this  story.  ...  An 
assassination,  a  near  approach  to  a  palace  revolution,  a  great  scandal, 
and  some  very  pretty  love-making,  besides  much  planning  and  plotting, 
take  place."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Mr.  Crawford  wastes  no  time  in  trying  to  re-create  history,  but  puts 
his  reader  into  the  midst  of  those  bygone  scenes  and  makes  him  live  in 
them.  .  .  .  In  scenes  of  stirring  dramatic  intensity.  .  .  .  It  all  seems  in- 
tensely real  so  long  as  one  is  under  the  novelist's  spell."  — Chicago  Tribune. 

"No  man  lives  who  can  endow  a  love  tale  with  a  rarer  charm  than 
Crawford."  —  San  Francisco  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  No  book  of  the  season  has  been  more  eagerly  anticipated,  and  none 
has  given  more  complete  satisfaction  ...  a  drama  of  marvellous  power 
and  exceptional  brilliancy,  forceful  and  striking  .  .  .  holding  the  reader's 
interest  spell-bound  from  the  first  page  of  the  story  to  the  last,  reached 
all  too  soon."  —  The  Augusta  Herald. 


THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


THE  REIGN   OF  LAW 

H  Cale  of  the  Kentucky  fiempfields 

By  JAMES   LANE  ALLEN 

Author  of  "  The  Choir  Invisible?'  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal?  etc. 

Illustrated  by  J.  C.  EARL  and  HARRY  FENN 
Cloth.       12mo.       $1.50 


"  The  whole  book  is  a  brilliant  defence  of  Evolution,  a  scholarly  state- 
ment of  the  case.  Never  before  has  that  great  science  been  so  presented; 
never  before  has  there  been  such  a  passionate  yet  thrilling  appeal." 

—  Courier  Journal. 

"  This  is  a  tremendous  subject  to  put  into  a  novel ;  but  the  effort  is  so 
daring,  and  the  treatment  so  frank  and  masterly  on  its  scientific  side,  that 
the  book  is  certain  to  command  a  wide  hearing,  perhaps  to  provoke  wide 
controversy."  —  Tribune,  Chicago. 

" '  When  a  man  has  heard  the  great  things  calling  to  him,  how  they  call, 
and  call,  day  and  night,  day  and  night ! '  This  is  really  the  foundation  idea, 
the  golden  text,  of  Mr.  James  Lane  Allen's  new  and  remarkable  novel." 

—  Evening  Transcript,  Boston. 

"  In  all  the  characteristics  that  give  Mr.  Allen's  novels  such  distinction 
and  charm  'The  Reign  of  Law'  is  perhaps  supreme  .  .  .  but  it  is  pre- 
eminently the  study  of  a  soul  .  .  .  religion  is  here  the  dominant  note." 

—  The  New  York  Times'  Saturday  Review, 

"  In  David  there  is  presented  one  of  the  noblest  types  of  our  fiction  ; 
the  incarnation  of  brilliant  mentality  and  splendid  manhood.  .  .  .  No 
portrait  in  contemporary  literature  is  more  symbolic  of  truth  and  honor." 

—  The  Times,  Louisville. 

"  Mr.  Allen  has  a  style  as  original  and  almost  as  perfectly  finished  as 
Hawthorne's,  and  he  has  also  Hawthorne's  fondness  for  spiritual  sug- 
gestion that  makes  all  his  stories  rich  in  the  qualities  that  are  lacking  in  so 
many  novels  of  the  period.  ...  If  read  in  the  right  way,  it  cannot  fail 
to  add  to  one's  spiritual  possessions."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


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